Dear Jane (Animal Attraction)
Author: Marissa Clarke
Date: 2017-01-09 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Contemporary Romance; friends to lovers; Fiction; Entangled; matchmaker; Marissa Clarke; forbidden romance; Romance; Romantic Comedy; coworkers; Lovestruck; General; Contemporary
Description: Jane Dixon is a dating disaster. Flammable tablecloths and broken arms are just a typical evening for her unlucky companions. No wonder Jane never gets past a first date. But luckily her co-worker and new bff says he’s got loads of friends who’d date her more than once. If only she could stop thinking about how much fun he was to hang out with. And she’d never dropped a bucket of ice on his junk. Win. All attorney Eric Blackwell has to do to make junior partner is not screw anything up for six weeks, which seems like a slam dunk until he finds himself matchmaker to the office “One Date Wonder”
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC

Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author

Find love in unexpected places with these satisfying Lovestruck reads…

Properly Groomed
A Shot with You
One Sexy Mistake
In a Ranger’s Arms

Also by Marissa Clarke

Sleeping with the Boss
Neighbors with Benefits
Chance of a Lifetime
Love Me to Death

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Mary Lindsey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Liz Pelletier

Cover design by Heather Howland

Cover art from iStock

ISBN 978-1-63375-859-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition January 2017

For my husband, Laine. My real-life hero and forever love.

Chapter One

Operation Smooth Sailing had officially entered week two. All Eric Blackwell needed to do in order to make junior partner at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot was maintain the status quo for the next six weeks. Basically, he just had to stay under the radar and get the Anderson Enterprises acquisition to work out on paper without screwing anything up.

He straightened his tie and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. Six weeks. No problem. Well, except for that little bit of bad news about some potential negative tax consequences for Anderson Enterprises that the analysis department had missed. Yeah, that.

He straightened his tie again. Being team leader, it was his task to brief Mr. Dixon on the details, and he’d been putting it off, hoping someone in his department would find some case law precedent, or a loophole, or a freaking magic spell to fix it.

The elevator doors slid open, and before he made ten steps into the lobby, a booming voice stopped him in his tracks. “This message arrived yesterday afternoon, Marcie. Why am I only now receiving it?”

The receptionist cleared her throat and slumped in her chair behind the semicircular teak desk in the lobby. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dixon. So many things came at once near the end of the day. I emailed your secretary and she said to—”

Face red, Mr. Dixon waved the paper in front of Marcie’s nose. He wasn’t a small man by any means, but when he was angry, he filled a room. “So, now you’re going to blame someone else?”

“No sir, your secretary said to… I… I…”

“There are two things I can’t abide: people who shift blame, and procrastinators.”

Yep, well, today probably wasn’t a good day to deliver late news about the analysis department’s mistake. Eric froze near the west wall of the lobby and did his best wood paneling imitation, hoping his dark suit jacket was sufficient camo to keep Mr. Dixon from noticing him. This was the last thing he needed first thing in the morning. He hadn’t even made it to his office yet.

“Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot prides itself on reliability, punctuality, and accuracy.” Mr. Dixon emphasized his statement with a palm slap on the desk, causing poor Marcie to almost launch out of her skin. “We expect all our employees to uphold this standard.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcie stared down at her hands.

Mr. Dixon folded the message and placed it in his suit pocket. “Well, then.”

Eric held his breath as the man strode with purpose toward the hallway to his office.

“Mr. Blackwell.”

Shit, shit, shit. How did he do that? He’d never even turned around. No way could he have seen him standing there. “Good morning, Mr. Dixon.”

“I believe you are late delivering the financials on the Anderson deal. I’ll hold three o’clock open for you. Since I haven’t heard anything on this, I expect good news.”

“Three o’clock.” Eric’s stomach sank. Yeah…sank. Perfect. Man the lifeboats; Operation Smooth Sailing just hit an iceberg.

Once Mr. Dixon disappeared from view, Marcie covered her face with her hands. Crying did it to Eric every time—yanked his heart out and stomped on it. When he was younger, he’d do anything to stop his mother’s crying, and he’d do anything now. Poor Marcie.

He took a deep breath and approached the desk. “Hey, Marcie. Sorry about that. He’s really not all that bad.” Well, that was a bust. It came out more like a question than a statement of fact.

To his relief, her eyes were completely dry when she lowered her hands from her face. “Yes, he is. He’s…” But she didn’t finish her thought before the phone rang. “Dixon, Rosenbaum, & Schoot, could you hold please?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the hold button. “I just had a million things come in at once this morning, too”—she gestured to a foot-tall stack of mail on the corner of the desk—“and I can’t possibly handle all of it and answer the phones. And Mr. Dixon scares me.”

Yeah, second that. His grip tightened on the briefcase containing the bad news report on the acquisition. “Is there something I can do to help you?”

“No.” She adjusted her headset. “You’re sweet to ask, though.”

The elevator slid open, and a delivery guy stepped out with an enormous bouquet of flowers. Making a line straight for Marcie, he set the vase on the desktop and shoved a clipboard at her right as the phone rang again. She put two more calls on hold as the guy stood there, clipboard out, clearly unaffected by the harried receptionist.

“Can anyone sign for those?” Eric asked when the phone rang again. The deliverer handed him the pen, he signed for the flowers, and the guy went on his way while Marcie directed a call to the Worker’s Comp Department and another to the Family Law Division.

She stood and checked the card on the flowers, and with a groan, slumped down in her chair. “I have the worst luck ever. Of course they go to the office farthest from my desk.”

He turned the arrangement to find out who it was for. “Jane Dixon” was scrawled in blue ink on the undersized envelope held in place with a plastic pitchfork-looking thing.

Jane Dixon. Eric played the image of her through his head. Small and blonde with huge blue eyes—not anything like her father, the man currently waiting to kill Eric’s partnership dreams. He and Jane had been in the same meetings on occasion, but they’d never spoken to each other…just stared—well, he’d stared; she probably hadn’t even noticed him.

Jane put in long, long hours, like he did. He knew this because even though she worked in the Family Law Division and he in the Business Mergers and Acquisitions Department, her office was down the hall from his. One of the highlights of his day was when she walked by his open door. On most nights, her office light was still on well after nine o’clock when he packed it in to go home.

He stared at the card, dying to peek inside and see who was sending her flowers. Maybe a boyfriend… A strange ping of jealousy flared and he almost laughed. Jealous. He was the pitiful guy who left his door open to score a look at her. She didn’t even know who he was. It wasn’t like he’d ever dreamed of asking her out or anything—okay, well, maybe he had dreamed of it, but it was a ridiculous fantasy. Not only was there a strict non-fraternization policy at DR&S, she was the boss’s daughter, for fuck’s sake.

Jealous? Nope. Pathetic? Absolutely.

The switchboard lit up again, and the receptionist gave a frustrated huff.

“Listen, Marcie. I’m going down that hallway anyway. Why don’t I just drop these off for you?” He picked up the vase.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Blackwell. You’re the nicest guy. Thank you so much.”

Nice… Yeah, being Mr. Nice Guy had nothing to do with getting a close-up look at Jane Dixon. Nothing at all. Again, pathetic. “Not a problem. I hope your day gets better.”

“It just did.”

Yeah, so had his.

Chapter Two

After dropping off his briefcase in his office, Eric made his way to the end of the hallway and knocked on Jane’s door, flowers in hand.

He felt ridiculous. Sort of like he had before his prom in high school, only Jane wasn’t going to dance with him and the flowers were from someone else. Still, this was a chance to actually speak to her and that was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. He was about to make her day with a clearly expensive bouquet of flowers from another man. His chest tightened. So did his grip on the vase. He was beginning to think pathetic wasn’t a strong enough descriptor.

“Come in,” she called.

When he opened the door, she didn’t look up from her computer screen, clearly engrossed in whatever she was reading. Brow furrowed, she tapped the end of a pen on the side of her monitor. Holy shit, she was beautiful—intensely focused with the sun from the wall of windows making her hair shine like gold. He’d never been this close to her before and found himself a little overwhelmed, which was ridiculous. He was head of an entire team at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City. Nothing should overwhelm him. Get it together, Blackwell.

When she finally looked up, her eyes widened and she pushed to her feet behind the huge, shiny desk. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Marcie dropping something off.”

“Well, I am… Not Marcie, but dropping something off.” Great. Just great. He groaned inwardly at how ridiculous his first words ever spoken to this woman were.

Her large blue eyes flitted from his face to the flowers and back again.

“These are for you,” he said, awkwardly holding them out.

“Oh…um…” She circled her desk, moving closer. “Wow. Thanks.”

“I’m Eric Blackwell.” He cleared his throat. “From Mergers and Acquisitions.”

She smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “Yeah, I know.”

She knew? His heart hammered harder, which seemed impossible. He cleared his throat again. “Marcie was swamped and asked me to deliver these for her.”

“Oh…” She glanced at the flowers, her smile fading slightly.

“Yeah, she had a bunch of stuff come in at once, and I was already heading this way, so…”

She nodded. “That was nice of you. Thanks.” With her hair pulled into a knot on the back of her head, her eyes looked huge.

Eric placed the vase on her desk, taking a deep breath. Shit. She even smelled good. Maybe it was the flowers. “These are nice. You must have an admirer.” And his morbid curiosity wanted to know who it was so he could direct his irrational jealousy appropriately. He pulled the envelope from the arrangement and handed it to her, hoping not only to extend his time this close to her but also get some intel.

He gritted his teeth as she pulled out the card. This level of interest was incontestable proof that he was working way too hard and playing way too little. Since his break up with Shannon almost a year ago, he’d done nothing but work. No wonder being this close to a woman was the highlight of his day. He had to fix this. Quick.

No. He needed to hold tight until after he made junior partner. That had been his goal from the start. It was important he get that promotion. The money would be nice, but really, it was all about the security, something he never had growing up.

Jane’s face clouded as she studied the card. “Who does this kind of thing? What kind of…” She waved a hand in an exasperated motion. “What kind of jerk uses a romantic gesture as a way to deliver a message like this. Really?”

And here he’d thought dropping off the flowers would associate him with something positive in her mind. Today sucked.

“I thought I’d gotten a date right for once, you know what I mean?”

Nope. Not a clue. How could a woman like this—obviously smart since she worked at one of the premier law firms in NYC, and gorgeous on top of that—get anything wrong on a date? Eric had an overwhelming urge to hunt down and beat the shit out of the prick who sent those flowers.

When she turned, her eyes brimmed with tears. Not the stream down your face kind, but controlled and held in. Oh God, not tears. They made him feel helpless and “holdy.” That’s what his mother had called it. His solution for tears was to hug, which he absolutely under no circumstances could do to Jane Dixon. The image of holding her soft body against his harder one, made him… well, harder. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from taking Jane in his arms. “I’m sorry. I…”

She blinked, pushing the tears back before they could fully form. “No, I’m sorry. You were just doing something nice for Marcie. You had no idea you’d been thrown in the room with the One-date Wonder.”

“Maybe I should—” He stepped backward toward the door.

She threw her hands up. “Seriously, how I can screw it up every time? Every. Single. Time.” She paced to the edge of her desk. “Do you know that I haven’t had a second date since I graduated law school?”

His day had just gone from pathetic to surreal. All he could do was shake his head.

She paced to the potted plant in the corner and then back to her desk. “Oh yeah. Loads of first dates. Never a second. And you know what?”

Hopefully that was rhetorical, because no way in hell could he possibly guess what would come out of her mouth next.

“I’m so done. I’m never going to find a guy to ask me out twice. I should swear off men forever. Men suck. Dating sucks.” She took a shuddering breath. “I suck.” And then one of the tears she’d held back this whole time escaped—only one—as she stood perfectly still and silent.

As if on auto-pilot, he crossed to her and folded her in his arms like he’d done with his mother so many times in his life. This wasn’t anything like those hugs, though, and his body made that fact painfully clear as she circled her arms around his waist under his jacket and leaned her cheek against his chest. And it was definitely her and not the flowers that smelled good.

After a few seconds, Eric’s heart hammered so hard he was certain Jane could hear it. There wouldn’t be enough lifeboats in the world to save Operation Smooth Sailing if he continued to rub his hands up and down his boss’s daughter’s back. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip, pulled away to create some space between them, and gave her shoulder an awkward, platonic pat.

“Sorry.” She straightened his lapel and brushed it, stepping back to arm’s length. “I…” She took a deep breath. “…got a little emotional on you there.”

Eric remained frozen in place, only a couple of feet from her, completely clueless what to do or say. He needed a how-to manual for this kind of thing.

She leaned against her desk, facing him. “I’m so frustrated.”

Ditto.

“I mean, why can’t a guy just go out on a date without an agenda or strategy? And why are women held to a different standard?”

Rhetorical. Please let that be rhetorical. He tried to look somewhere else, but couldn’t draw his gaze away from her hands as she fiddled with the necklace that disappeared into her cleavage behind her silk blouse.

“If a guy spills ice water in his date’s lap, she wouldn’t hold it against him forever. She wouldn’t send him flowers with a Dear John letter attached. Am I right?”

Ice water in his lap might be just the ticket right now, Eric decided, finally pulling his gaze away from the freckle on her neck peeking out from under her silk collar. “No. Uh… I mean, yes. Yes, you’re right.” Right in so many ways it made him dizzy. Coming to her office had been a mistake. It had to be the ten months of abstinence in combination with the ridiculous hours he’d been putting in leading up to this merger, and the stress of blowing his promotion this close to his annual review that had him in this state.

“I guess I’m just scared I’ll never find a guy who’ll go out with me more than once. It’s kind of a joke in my family. My three brothers are married and I can’t even get a second date.”

“Maybe it’s just that you’re going out with the wrong guys. I know lots of men who would give anything to go out with someone like you.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows rose, her expression hopeful.

“Sure.” He could think of one in particular, but sadly there was that non-fraternization clause he’d signed when he was hired.

“Ohmygod, you’re the best, Eric!” She held out her hand. “You’re on.”

What the hell? He accepted her extended hand, and she gave it a vigorous handshake.

“I’m free on Fridays after seven.” She scribbled on a Post-It note on her desk. “Give one of your friends my number, and we’ll set up a time.”

He took the slip of paper. “O—kay.”

She smiled. It was a huge smile that lit up her entire face, like the sun coming out. “Great. You’re the best. Really, you are.”

Oh yeah. He was the best for sure. The best at mucking everything up. He finally had Jane’s phone number and now he was tasked with finding another man to give it to. Perfect.

“Oh. And I have another favor to ask.”

Maybe this could turn around.

She held up a finger and wagged it. “No lawyers. I will never date one. Ever. I’d rather stay single the rest of my life.”

Nope. No turning this disaster around.

Numb, and not exactly sure how he’d gone from up-and-coming attorney to flower delivery boy to Jane Dixon’s personal dating service, Eric shuffled out the door and down the hallway to the safety of his office. This time, he closed the door.

Chapter Three

Jane stared at her open doorway for a long time after Eric left. He was cute up close. Thick, mahogany hair, great face with a strong jaw, but it was his chocolate brown eyes that struck her the most. There was something about his eyes—warm, intelligent eyes that studied her like a puzzle he was trying to solve. She’d only seen him from across the conference room and in passing at company functions, but now that she’d spoken with him…damn. And she’d almost lost it in front of him. Well done.

At least he hadn’t made fun of her like her brothers always did. Oh man, her brothers would have been brutal.

She pulled a white spider mum out of the arrangement and twirled it. Usually, she just never heard from guys after the first date, or got Dear Jane texts instead. These flowers were a first. She plucked a petal, then another. God, she’d asked the cute lawyer to set her up with a friend. Desperate much?

No. It wasn’t desperation, it was self-preservation. One more family dinner with a round of fifty questions from her entire family, including all-time favorites like “What are you doing to scare men off?” and “Do you even like men, Jane?” and she’d lose her freaking mind.

All her life she’d tried to stay in step with the Dixon family expectation of who and what she should be: a successful lawyer, loyal wife, excellent mother. Somehow, though, she never seemed to get it right.

Why couldn’t men be more like her cat, Gandalf? Loving, self-sufficient, and chill with whatever happened? Gandalf didn’t care if she spilled ice water, or laughed too loud, or wore sweats, or didn’t like Brussels sprouts.

She started removing the second row of petals. The Brussels sprouts thing was weird. The guy actually ended their date because she wouldn’t try them. She didn’t need to try them. They smelled like barf. The fact it was an old family recipe made no difference. Barf balls equal gag. Gag is bad in any social setting. Therefore, no tasting. End of story. And, unfortunately, end of date.

She’d worked her way to the small, inner petals, reversing direction to pluck them counterclockwise, now. Maybe her family was right. Maybe there was something wrong with her. It surely wasn’t that she didn’t like men, though. They just didn’t like her, evidently. At least not enough to ask her out again. And then there were the ones with roving hands—which wasn’t a bad thing if it weren’t a first date.

She pulled out the remaining half dozen or so central petals in a single pluck and flicked them from her fingers. She hadn’t always had this problem. She’d gone out with several guys multiple times in law school. What was different now from two years ago? God, it had been so long since she’d had sex, she could probably qualify for her V card again.

With a sigh, she pitched the bare stem in the trash can and then scooped up the pile of petals. They were soft, like the lapel of Eric’s jacket—totally unlike what she’d felt underneath that jacket when she’d wrapped her arms around him. Her body heated as she remembered running her fingers over the lean muscles of his back. She closed her eyes and recreated their brief embrace. His hands had been soothing and warm as he rubbed them up and down her spine. And that smell. He smelled fantastic. Soap and starch and dry-cleaned suit. Before she got carried away, she opened her eyes, still clutching the shredded petals. In a white blizzard, she let them flutter into the trash can.

When Eric had walked into her office with that gorgeous floral arrangement and equally gorgeous brown eyes, she’d hoped it was a gift from him. That a guy had noticed her in real life and not hunted for a suitable hookup based on a profile from a dating website. But that wasn’t the case. She brushed her hands together to dislodge a few remaining petals. Didn’t really matter, anyway. He was a lawyer, and besides the firm’s non-fraternization policy, all lawyers were off the table.

Her office phone buzzed and she picked up. “Your appointment is here, Ms. Dixon.”

Ah, yes. Her nine o’clock. Mother of two trying to collect child support from her deadbeat husband who had run off with his best friend’s wife. Followed at ten by a man who was trying to get sole custody of his daughter due to his ex-wife’s tendency to disappear for weeks at a time. Then, her afternoon was full with depositions of a couple trying to nickel and dime each other to death before the division of property could be agreed upon, who were never going to be happy no matter what the outcome was.

She pushed the intercom button on the phone. “Go ahead and send the first appointment back.”

Smoothing her hair, she stood, then buttoned her jacket. Raising her chin, she took a deep breath, mentally hardening her heart and putting up her emotional shield.

Maybe she was lucky. Perhaps never making a second date was a good thing…

No. She refused to let this job get to her. Instead, she decided to focus on the positive. Maybe Eric would set her up with a vet or someone who loved animals like she did. Someone nice, and patient, who would appreciate her for who she was outside of this office.

Chapter Four

“You’re shitting me, right?” Alastair, the bartender at Eric’s favorite local pub, slid another Heineken his way. “You want me to go out with some lawyer you know from work? You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. I’d really appreciate it.” Eric grabbed a handful of peanuts and popped them into his mouth. Alastair was the perfect choice. Friendly, outgoing, good looking, with a cool Australian accent.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing.”

Alastair dried a wine glass he’d just washed. “Not buying it. Gotta be something wrong with her, or else we wouldn’t be having this discussion.” He hung the glass on the rack above the bar.

Eric took a swallow of beer, choosing his words carefully. “She’s beautiful and smart. There’s nothing wrong with her.” He couldn’t believe he was actually having this conversation. Even more unbelievable was the fact he was trying to secure a date for a girl he’d wanted since the first time she’d walked by his office door. “She’s perfect.”

He was either too convincing or not convincing enough, because Alastair’s eyebrows shot up. “Perfect, huh?”

Afraid of giving himself away, he answered with a simple nod.

The bartender pitched his towel over the edge of the bar sink. “Why aren’t you taking her out, then?”

“I can’t.”

There went the eyebrows again.

“She doesn’t date lawyers.” Eric took another pull on his beer.

“But she is a lawyer.”

“Yeah, ironic, huh? Look, just do me a solid and take her out for dinner tomorrow. You already said you had the night off.”

“Gave up my best shift to watch the rugby match on TV, not go out with some lawyer who can’t find a date for herself.”

Ouch. “Look, Alastair. Record the match. She’s so much better than rugby or anything else you had planned.” He winced at the look of pity thrown his way. Surely, he wasn’t that transparent. He’d promised her a date. He had to deliver. Time for the nuclear option. “How about I pay for dinner?”

The bartender leaned close. “So, let me get this straight. I take a woman you’re hot for out to dinner, and you pay for it?”

“I’m not hot for her.”

“And all along I thought lawyers were supposed to be skilled liars.”

Shit, shit, shit.

Alastair took Eric’s empty beer bottle and pitched it in the trash. “So, my question is no longer what’s wrong with her.” He wiped the area in front of Eric and placed his hands on the edge of the bar. “The real question is, what’s wrong with you?”

If Alastair and Jane hit it off, Eric would have to watch his best friend with a woman he’d wanted since the moment he laid eyes on her. What was wrong with him? Everything.

…

“Your friend’s accent is amazing,” Jane said from the doorway of Eric’s office the next day. “He asked me out for dinner tonight.”

Eric’s stomach gave a churn as he calmly set his pen down, determined not to let his misgivings show. “That’s fantastic!” At least Alastair had made good on his promise to give her a call.

“Yeah, and he’s taking me to MacLandon’s Steakhouse.”

Figured he’d take her to a ridiculously expensive restaurant. “One of my favorite places.”

Her grin was contagious. “Really? Mine, too.”

“I’m glad it worked out.”

Just when he thought she couldn’t be more attractive in her fitted, navy business suit, she laughed. Not a chuckle, but a full-blown laugh that made her face light up and her eyes sparkle. He’d give anything to see her laugh like that again.

“Oh, don’t speak too soon. I’m sure I’ll mess it up somehow.”

“I expect a full report.” He raised an eyebrow in jest, but inside gave his forehead a slap.

“I’ll spare you none of the gory details.”

There were lots of details from which he’d like to be spared. Like if his friend kissed her…or more. He picked up the pen to give his hands something to do other than clench into fists.

“I’ll text you when he drops me off and give you the run down.”

Alastair was outgoing and charming. Eric couldn’t wait to hear all about it. Or not. He groaned inwardly. “Great.”

She arched an eyebrow at the pen he was clicking a billion times a second.

Way to play it cool, Blackwell. “Sorry, I’ve got a lot of stuff going on.”

“The Anderson deal. Yeah. Dad’s pretty uptight about it.”

Dad. Boom. Direct hit. And “uptight” wasn’t even in the ballpark. The meeting with Mr. Dixon yesterday had been a disaster. Eric needed to figure out a way to minimize the tax consequences or the deal wouldn’t go through and neither would his promotion.

“I’ll let you get back to work, then.” She tilted her head and studied him for a moment from his office door, and he resisted the urge to check himself to see if something was off.

“Good luck tonight,” he said.

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

Chapter Five

After a grueling day at work, Eric’s favorite thing to do was binge watch sitcoms and work that day’s New York Times crossword.

Number three across: “One who weeps, in a saying.” He traced his fingers over the five empty spaces. “Finders keepers, losers weepers,” he chanted in a taunting, playground voice. With a sigh, he filled in the blanks. L-O-S-E-R.

While he was home, living like an old man at thirty years old, Alastair was out wining, dining, and romancing Jane on Eric’s dime.

Number twelve down: “Live a dull life.” Second letter of eight was a T and fourth a G. No doubt about the answer to this one. He was an expert on dull. S-T-A-G-N-A-T-E, he wrote in the blanks.

Something had to give. He popped a potato chip into his mouth. His entire life, all he wanted was to not be like his selfish, pleasure-seeking father—the father who left his family penniless when he’d died. Eric had vowed at an early age he’d be responsible and support those he loved, not only financially, but with undying loyalty. He’d succeeded. Three months ago, he’d bought his mother a small house upstate and nothing had ever felt better. If he could make the Anderson Enterprises acquisition of Cahill Investment Group work out, he’d be the youngest junior partner ever at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot, a dream of his since he’d interned with them during his second year in law school.

He’d been called an overachiever so many times during his life, he’d lost count. Editor of Law Review, Phi Alpha Delta student board, and a job offer well before graduation with one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City. Overachiever. He shook his head. Yeah, he was a success in all areas of his life except one.

Number two across: “Like some gases.” Tipping his head, he studied the five boxes ending in R-T.

He tossed the pencil down on the glass coffee table. “Inert,” he said through gritted teeth. Even the crossword knew he was pathetic.

Switching off the TV, he leaned back into his leather sofa and closed his eyes. All he’d ever wanted was to make right what his dad had done to his family—and that had always been enough. Security and financial stability for his mom were up there on the top of his list of what was important. He’d done that…

He picked up the pencil and traced seventeen across: “Lack of fulfillment.”

“You’re a crossword puzzle,” he muttered at the half-completed grid, “not a fucking fortune cookie!”

Calm down. Lots of puzzles were thematic. This just happened to be a shitty theme and not a reflection of him at all. He was content with his life. He was. Really. Things were exactly as he had planned them—better, in fact. F-R-U, he wrote in the blanks. No turmoil. No unhappiness. S-T-R-A. No bending his world to make it mesh with someone else’s. No one unloading the problems of the day on him. No one for him to vent to… No romantic dinners for two at Ruth’s Chris. No love… No sex. T-I-O-N.

The pencil snapped in his grip.

Shannon had left him after he’d refused to choose her over his career. He’d just been moved up to team leader in his division—chosen over several lawyers who had been there longer—and she wanted him to back down. He’d worked his ass off to get the partners’ attention and stand out enough to be noticed, and it had worked. Backing down wasn’t an option. Hell, they’d only been dating eight months when she’d made her ultimatum: her or work. In his mind, the two weren’t mutually exclusive. His job came first, but they still got to see each other once a week at least. Still, she said his job was all-consuming and she needed more.

More what? She knew his goals when they began dating. Yeah, the hours were long and the daily grind sucked, but there was the goal of making partner…and the money. That’s what it was about for him. Dad had lived his life as if there would always be time to fix the financial mess. Only there wasn’t. One missed red light and all of it ended instantly, leaving five-year-old Eric and his mom with nothing and no one but each other. At least if something happened to him, Eric knew his mom was provided for. Between the house and the escrow account he’d set up for her, she wouldn’t have to fear the future again.

He picked up the usable half of the broken pencil and smoothed the Times page. He’d never really missed Shannon, and she’d obviously not missed him much; he’d read her engagement announcement not three months after she’d broken up with him. Twenty-three down. Eight letters beginning with O: “What cynics lack.”

Ding.

“Jane” appeared on his phone screen.

Great. Now he was going to have to act like he was happy to hear the date report. Before opening the message, he gave the problem another shot. “What cynics lack…” Nothing came to mind.

With a sigh, he opened her message.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!”

He smiled, imagining the playful distress call said in her voice. “State your coordinates. Will dispatch rescue crew,” he typed.

“My home base. Backup needed immediately.”

He read the message several more times. Was she asking him to her home? He didn’t even know where she lived. Maybe it wasn’t as big a joke as he’d originally thought. He swallowed hard. Maybe she really needed help. He’d known Alastair for two years, but they didn’t hang out other than at the bar. “You okay?” he typed.

“Yes. Could use a friend.”

The lump in his throat was back, joined by a jackhammer in his chest as he studied her words. He hated texting. It made it impossible to tell what was really going on. Sarcasm and anger were always muddled. So was sincerity. And emojis had a special place in hell, as far as he was concerned.

“Want to meet somewhere?”

“Yes. Here.” And then she typed a Soho address.

Holy, holy shit. Jane Dixon had just invited him over. He stood and brushed potato chip crumbs off of his jeans. No need to get uptight. It was simply a lateral move. He’d gone from flower delivery boy to matchmaker to sounding board. Nothing to get worked up about.

Grabbing his wallet and MetroCard, he laughed. Yeah. His body clearly hadn’t gotten the “nothing to get worked up about” memo.

He stared at the crossword one more time. “What cynics lack,” he read aloud then smiled as he filled in the blanks. O-P-T-I-M-I-S-M.

Chapter Six

“Wow, you got here fast,” Jane said, gesturing with a bottle of beer for Eric to enter her apartment.

He stepped inside, still in disbelief he was actually in Jane Dixon’s apartment. “Only seven stops on the One Train.”

Her apartment wasn’t anything like he’d expected. With George Dixon as her dad, he assumed she’d have a slick, modern place decked out like the office: refined, elegant, expensive. Instead, it was colorful, warm, and comfortable with a plush sofa and two bucket chairs facing the TV, which was next to a bizarre sculpture made of carpeted boxes.

The sculpture hissed, or rather something inside it did.

“Oh, Gandalf. Don’t be an ass,” she said, finishing off her beer with one hand and motioning for Eric to sit on the sofa with her other. “Sorry, he doesn’t like anyone but me, and fair warning: he’s never lost a staring contest.”

“Challenge accepted.” Eric lowered himself onto the side of the sofa farthest from the sculpture, which clearly housed a hostile cat. “Is he…” He wasn’t sure how to ask if it was aggressive without being rude.

“He’s a big blowhard,” she said, sitting on the other side of the sofa. “Total scaredy-cat.”

Well, that was a relief. He relaxed a bit, but remained positioned to keep an eye out in case the cat launched from one of the hidey-holes at face level.

“Animals are like people,” she said. “The ones that are the loudest are often the most harmless. It’s the quiet ones that are full of surprises.”

The cat stuck its flat, furry face out of the highest hole in the sculpture and gave another hiss.

“How long have you had him?”

“Only a year. He’s seven or eight years old, though. I got him from the rescue shelter. I’m his fifth home.”

No mystery there.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. Eric had never seen Jane with her hair down. It was longer than he’d imagined—and he’d imagined it on more than one occasion as she’d walked by his office in her business suits. It hung almost to her waist and looked like spun gold. He wanted to touch it to see how it felt. Instead, he sat back and tried to look casual. That only lasted until the hell cat hissed again and then made a sound like something out of a scary movie.

She popped to her feet. “I’m so rude. You want a beer or soda or something? I’m gonna have another beer.”

“Sure. Beer is great.” He marveled at the way her lacy dress looked like it had been sewn together on her body, hugging every dip and curve. How did she even get into that thing? He shifted and bit back a groan. Thank God she didn’t dress like this at the office, or he’d do nothing but stare at his door all day, hoping for a glimpse of her.

Two huge gold eyes narrowed at him from inside the box thing. He returned the glare.

When Jane strode back with two bottles of Corona, he decided she looked as good coming as she had going. He was so screwed. “So, why the maydays?” Alastair had better not have overstepped.

“Well, actually, my original communication was via smoke signal.” She took a swallow of beer, and he found himself riveted by the movements of her throat.

When she didn’t continue, he dragged his gaze from her neck to her face.

“Yeah.” She set the beer down on the scratched oak coffee table. “I told you I never get a second date. Tonight was no exception.”

The cat stuck its flat face all the way out of the hole in the highest carpeted box and hissed. Eric leaned forward and growled low in his throat, and it retreated, sputtering with feline indignation.

Jane laughed. “Well done. I’ve never thought to do that.”

It took a scaredy-cat to know one. “So tell me about dinner tonight.”

“I set the table on fire.”

He had no clue what to say, so he just sat, one eye on the cat, who stared back.

“Not even kidding. Full-blown, all-out inferno.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah. And poor Alastair’s suit is ruined forever. It was a holy-shit-get-the-fire-extinguisher-and-spray-down-the-entire-table-including-the-lobster-dinner-and-hot-Aussie-guy kind of fire.”

He knew he shouldn’t laugh. It was rude. He did it anyway.

“I told you. If it can be screwed up, I’ll screw it.”

His body caught the inadvertent pun even if she didn’t.

She covered her mouth. “Oops. Awkward. Sorry.” She lifted her beer. “Not counting the half glass of wine before I incinerated the table, I’m one up on you.”

He upended his bottle and chugged the remaining beer. “Not anymore.”

A perfectly formed eyebrow arched. “Like I said. It’s the quiet ones.”

If she only knew how loud he wanted to be. Right now. With her. He pushed the thought away. “You really set the table on fire? How is that even possible?”

“Crazy, nervous hand gesture meets candle, meets table, meets flames, meets waiter with fire extinguisher who sprays white powdery stuff on everything including date’s suit.”

“But the candles at MacLandon’s are short stubby things in glass globes.”

She took another chug of beer. “Yeah, but if launched into the air at just the right trajectory, the little votive becomes a missile of doom. And whatever the “special of the day” menu is made of goes up like flash paper. Whoosh!”

This time, he didn’t even try to hold his laugh in, and it felt good. Really good. How could a woman like this have trouble finding dates? She was a blast. Brilliant, beautiful, and funny. The whole package. If only they’d met another way.

Their laughter died out, and for a moment, they stared at each other and he found himself holding his breath.

“Another beer?” she asked, pushing to her feet.

“Sure.”

He slumped back against the sofa cushions as she disappeared into the kitchen. What the hell was that? It was as if the air between them had ignited like the MacLandon’s menu. The cat leaped from the structure in the corner to the floor, never taking his eyes off of Eric, and Eric stared right back.

Jane returned and sank into the chair farthest away. All three of them sat in silence for what felt like forever.

“Sooooo, are you in a staring contest with my cat?”

“Yep.”

“Gandalf’s going to win.”

“Not a chance.”

The cat’s eye twitched, but its unnerving vertical pupils stayed fixed on Eric.

“So, you said you know lots of guys who’d want to go out with me.”

“Uh-huh.” The cat showed no sign of backing down.

“I’m free every Friday.”

Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was set her up with another one of his friends. To imagine her laughing with them. Kissing them. Hell, if he’d been on that date with her tonight, a lot more than that menu would have caught fire. It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her now. But it couldn’t be him. Could never be him. He needed to keep his eye on the prize: junior partner at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot. “Uh-huh. Fridays.”

He narrowed his eyes, but the cat didn’t even blink. Jane cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. Eric leaned forward, refusing to pull his gaze from the gold cat eyes. No way would he look away first.

“Seriously?” She let out a half-hearted laugh. “You’re in a staring contest with a cat.”

“I can’t lose.”

“Why?”

Because he never lost. His dad had been a loser, but he wasn’t. “It’s a status thing. Like alpha with a dog.”

“So, you’re the cat whisperer or something?”

“Nope. Just competitive.”

The hackles rose on Gandalf’s back and his tail puffed out even bushier. A low growl rose from his chest. Eric growled right back, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh, for goodness sake!”

“Shh. I’m winning.”

She slammed her bottle down and the cat flinched, but didn’t look away. “This is ridiculous. Go on, Gandalf. Beat it!” A perfectly aimed decorative pillow sent the cat running to the kitchen.

“Interference from the audience. Rematch!” Eric called after him.

“Great. You guys can have a do-over next Friday after my date with another one of your friends.”

A lump clogged his throat. He hated this. If she hit it off with someone he set her up with, he’d have to hear about what he was missing firsthand from that friend, and it would kill him. “Maybe one of those online match-up services would be better.”

She picked up the remote from the side table and turned on the TV. “Oh, hell no. Been there, done that. I go back and forth online with some guy who seems perfect, and when we meet up, he turns out to be two decades older than his picture and his “platonic roomie” turns out to be his mother, whose picture he carries in his wallet next to a condom of questionable vintage.”

Eric chuckled as she surfed two more channels, settling on an old James Bond movie.

“Popcorn?” She stood. “I’m starving. My lobster was extinguished.”

“Sure.” He followed her to the small, tidy kitchen where the cat gave him the evil eye from under a breakfast table for two. Again he was struck by the coziness he didn’t expect from Mr. Dixon’s daughter. “I’m surprised MacLandon’s didn’t offer you a replacement meal.”

She placed the bag of popcorn in the microwave. “Well, Alastair had a rugby match or something to go to. He invited me along, but it was awkward, you know?”

Oh yeah. He knew all about awkward. At that moment, he was debating whether or not to tell her she’d put the bag in upside down. It didn’t pop right that way. He’d found that out the hard way himself. “Um…”

She followed his gaze to the microwave. “Oh God. Did I leave the plastic on again?”

“No. Just put the wrong side up.”

“Oh.” She popped the door open and flipped the bag over. “I left the outer cellophane bag on once. Not pretty.” She closed the microwave door and restarted it. Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You probably think I’m the flakiest person on earth.”

He’d seen her give a briefing of the significant cases the Family Law Division was running at a multi-department meeting last year. She wasn’t flaky. She was brilliant. “I think you’re distracted.”

She shook her head as she watched the bag go around in the microwave. “Yeah. Distracted twenty-four/seven. My brothers used to call me Spacy Janie when I was in high school. I shut that down, though.”

Her sly smile evoked a returned one. “How did you manage that? From my experience watching my female friends who have brothers, the teasing can be pretty relentless.”

“Not when you get them where it hurts. In the Dixon family, academic success is a point of pride. So I crushed their pride.” The microwave dinged and she pulled out the bag, then dropped it on the counter, steam puffing from the end.

He waited for her to elaborate while she pulled down a bowl from the cabinet over the coffeemaker. The cat crossed the room to rub against her ankles in a figure eight. It paused long enough to glare at him with narrowed eyes and growl.

“Cut it out, Gandy. He’s not a threat to you.”

Yeah. Clearly not. Even the crossword knew he was inert. “So how did you shut down your brothers’ teasing?”

She pulled on the corners of the bag and dumped the popcorn into the bowl. “I beat them at their own game. I graduated valedictorian from high school and undergrad, which none of them had done, and I got acceptance letters to three Ivy League law schools.”

He covered his mouth in mock outrage. “No summa cum laude from law school?”

She popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth and headed back toward the TV room. “Nope. I lightened up a bit in law school. My point had been made. They saw me as one of them, not a flaky outcast.”

She passed him the bowl once they were seated on the sofa again. Eric found it hard to believe anyone could look at this woman and consider her an outcast of any kind. She was amazing. Brilliant. One of the smartest people he’d ever met. And hot—especially in that dress that was cut super low in the front, exposing her cleavage, which never happened in her business suits. It was hard to tear his eyes away, but getting caught checking her out would be awkward, and he’d had plenty of that today. On the TV, James Bond was skiing down a snowy mountain being pursued by multiple bad guys with guns. “You said you have three brothers. I know one is in the litigation section at DR&S. Are the other two lawyers, too?”

“Oh yeah. We all work at the firm. That’s what Dixons do… Multiply and litigate. Nothing else for three generations now.” She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

No pressure there. “You don’t sound happy about that.”

“You’re a shrink, too?” she said around a mouthful of popcorn.

Yeah, in addition to flower delivery boy and dating service… “Just an observation.”

She swallowed and washed it down with a chug of beer. “You’re very observant, Eric Blackwell. I guess that’s why my dad likes you.”

“Your dad likes me?” Shit. He’d blurted that out without thinking first. He’d told himself that her dad was a taboo topic.

“He thinks you’re the best new hire we’ve had in a long time.” Her face remained unreadable. “Better than everyone…me included.”

While he was glad he had the man’s favor, his chest tightened for Jane, who was in a tough spot. God, it must suck for her to work for her dad. Especially a dad like George Dixon, who never seemed pleased with anyone or anything. The non-fraternization clause seemed silly in light of the fact all four Dixon kids worked at their dad’s law firm. Clearly they didn’t have a problem with nepotism. Talk about a conflict of interest.

On the TV, Bond evaded the bad guys much more effectively than Eric was evading awkwardness. He and Jane sat in silence for a while, munching popcorn and staring at the TV screen.

“People think I was hired because of who I am,” she said finally.

“You were.”

Only her eyebrow arched in response.

He cleared his throat and searched for the right words. “You were hired because of who you are: a successful lawyer.”

The eyebrow winged higher.

“Being a Dixon is irrelevant,” he added. “Any firm would have hired you based on your credentials and ability.”

“You don’t know me. Could have been a total inside deal.”

“I know you killed it in high school and undergrad and probably went to a super prestigious law school. I also know you are co-head of the Family Law Division after only two years. That’s impressive, as was your presentation at the last multi-department meeting. And you work ridiculously long hours.”

The cat jumped up on the sofa next to Jane and she ran her hand down his hairy back. “How would you know how many hours I work?”

Busted. “Your office is down the hall from mine. I work long hours and sometimes am out before you.”

“I’ll say it again. You’re very observant.”

Or maybe just very attuned to Jane Dixon. He reached for another handful of popcorn and got a handful of Jane instead. “Sorry, I, uh…” He lost his train of thought as she turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his.

“Thanks for setting me up with your friend. Sorry I tried to light him on fire.” She squeezed his fingers and then released him.

He fought the urge to fidget and instead picked up some popcorn. “Well, now Alastair can brag about his scorching hot date.”

The cat climbed onto the back of the sofa and Eric leaned forward, just in case it decided to make good on its rumbly threats while walking behind him to settle in behind Jane’s head.

“So, I’ve told you about me. What about you?” she said before tossing some popcorn in her mouth, then washing it down with beer.

“Not much to tell. I didn’t graduate number one in high school or undergrad. Didn’t get offers from three Ivies, but I did okay. No siblings to outshine. I’m an only child.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“It’s only Mom. She’s upstate.”

The cat butted his head against hers and she reached back to scratch around his ears. “Your parents divorced?”

“No. Lost my dad in a car wreck when I was little.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.” She scratched Gandalf under his chin. “My dad is a bear sometimes, but I can’t imagine growing up without him.”

Ordinarily, he kept the sadness and regret over his father’s death tucked deep down, allowing only his resentment to remain because it motivated him to do better, but her sincerity dislodged his grief and it bubbled up unexpectedly.

He blinked a few times and focused on Bond’s car chase, willing the ache in his chest to loosen. He wondered if the scene was filmed at a normal speed and then sped up to look out of control and crazy reckless—like he felt at that moment. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself pulling Jane close and kissing her. He imagined how soft her lips would be—and how warm. Warm like her fingers laced through his at that moment.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

“No. You didn’t. I—”

The cat jumped off the back of the sofa and landed between them right on top of their hands with his claws out.

“Ow, shit, Gandalf!” she said, yanking her hand back and shaking it. “I’m really sorry, Eric. He’s the worst.”

The cat was a nightmare, but not the worst. At least Gandalf took action on his impulses, rather than sit there dreaming about them.

Chapter Seven

Jane nudged Gandalf, and he leaped to the floor. It was like he could read her mind and knew she had a full-on fantasy working that involved locking lips with the cute lawyer, which would have been a huge no-no. Like, giant no-no. She’d written lawyers off the day she graduated from law school. They were arrogant, bossy, and way too argumentative. She had a whole family of them, and there was no way she’d date one, much less marry one.

Marry. Ha. That was a joke. She couldn’t even score a second date.

“Did he scratch you?” she asked.

“Nope.” He showed her both sides of his hand. He had good hands. Strong, like he did more than sit at a desk. And until tonight, she’d only seen him in body-hiding business suits. He looked pretty buff in his T-shirt and jeans, which made those earlier images from before Gandy’s ambush come flickering back through her brain. How would his chest feel? His hair? His mouth… Stop!

“So, do you have a girlfriend?” Aw, shit. That was stupid. His dating status was none of her business because it didn’t affect her. At all. Like, not even a little. Yet, for some reason she found herself holding her breath for his answer.

He repositioned on the couch to face her a little more. “No.”

That shouldn’t have been such a relief. It didn’t matter. Lawyers equaled hard no, she reminded herself; this one in particular. They worked at the same firm, for God’s sake.

“No time for it.”

“Well, that explains why you were free to drop by on short notice on a Friday night.”

“It’s a work night for me.”

“That’s not healthy, you know. Everyone needs time off.” She’d learned that the hard way when she got sick after pulling a string of eighty-plus-hour work weeks that didn’t get her ahead of the game even a little bit. She’d moved to a rigid eight a.m. to eight p.m. weekday schedule—well, sometimes as late as ten p.m. if she had a trial—and she always took weekends off now.

“You’re a fine one to talk. You work as late as I do.”

She shook her head. “Not on Fridays or weekends.”

“I have to. I’m up for junior partner.”

“So am I.”

He scowled at the TV like a petulant child, and he was so cute she wanted to ruffle his tidy, well-combed hair. How had she not gotten to know Eric before this? She’d seen him around and walked by his open office door multiple times a day. It had just never crossed her mind to pop in and say hi. Maybe that’s what was wrong with her. Being social just didn’t come naturally.

She took a deep breath and wished she were more like James Bond, who seemed equally comfortable engaged in hand-to-hand combat or in a prolonged make-out session like the one filling her TV screen right now.

Jane had no trouble dealing with people in a business capacity in the courtroom or at the deposition table. She found it hard to relate to people in a personal way—always getting tongue tied or causing a huge disaster. She didn’t have trouble talking to Eric, though. Maybe that was because he was a lawyer and therefore out of the dating pool. Not that it really mattered. He’d said he was out of the dating game anyway, which was logical if he was gunning to move up fast in the firm.

She peeked over at him again and found him staring. The edges of his mouth turned up in a smile, and she smiled back. If only it had been this easy with Alastair tonight. Instead of feeling at ease, like she was now, she’d pulled her usual awkward routine and punted the candle with an out of control hand gesture.

Gandy jumped back up on the sofa and head-butted her shoulder, purring. “Oh yeah. Be a jerk and then act all sweet. Typical male.”

Eric snorted.

When she looked over again, he seemed entranced with the ending of the movie. Maybe her statement was unfair. She’d become jaded. Her brothers were obnoxious and for some reason, she was a dating disaster. Surely there was a guy out there who would be easy to talk to and fun to be around.

“So, wanna come over again for a movie and popcorn next Friday?” she said as the end credits on the film rolled.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Great we’ll meet up after my date. Got another hot friend like Alastair?”

For some reason, he stiffened. Not much, but she was an expert at reading people from all her time with clients. Maybe he didn’t really like Alastair. Or maybe he couldn’t think of another friend to set her up with.

He stood and placed the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “I’ve got someone in mind.”

Or maybe she’d misread him. “You’re the best.”

“You said that before.”

“And I’ll probably say it again.”

“I hope so.” He reached out, and her heart kicked into high speed. For a moment, she thought he was going to touch her, but instead he stroked the cat who was perched on the back of the sofa behind her shoulder…and Gandy, who hated everyone, allowed it. Which begged the question, if Eric had touched her, would she have allowed it? Nope. Not going there. All lawyers were off limits. Every single one.

Chapter Eight

Eric’s office door was closed on Monday and again on Tuesday and Wednesday. It shouldn’t have bothered Jane. Wait. No. It didn’t bother her. Nope. Not at all.

He finally texted Thursday, telling her to expect a call from some guy named Brody, a friend from his CrossFit gym. Well, that explained why Eric looked so good in a T-shirt. She’d thought about doing CrossFit herself after reading an article about it, but when she peeked in the open door of a gym near her apartment, it had been full of sweaty men and women who seemed way too serious about their workouts for her taste. She preferred the elliptical in the air-conditioned workout room in her apartment basement, where it was peaceful and very rarely was anyone there to see her butt jiggle.

She’d texted Eric back with a thank you and how are you, but he hadn’t responded yet. It had only been twenty minutes, according to her office clock. He was probably in the middle of something and hadn’t checked his phone since she’d sent it.

Absently, she flipped the Zimmerman divorce file open on her desk. Kim Zimmerman was due in her office in less than thirty minutes and she hadn’t read the latest demands from the husband’s lawyer, a prominent, very hostile attorney in Brooklyn. God, she was sick of grumpy people and their hostile lawyers. She flipped another page, not even seeing the words.

Her dad had been grumpy at their Sunday night family dinner, grouching about the IRS and the Anderson deal. Maybe that’s why Eric had been invisible this week; he was trying to make that deal work before his annual review at the end of the month.

For the third time that day, she wandered down the hall to visit with the receptionist and check for any mail. She’d stopped telling herself it was an errand and admitted what it was: she wanted to see Eric. Something about him made her smile. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head slightly when she talked. Maybe it was the way his mouth hitched up on the ends before he broke out in a smile. Or the way he smelled. Or the way he filled out a T-shirt…

Oh shit. She stopped in the hallway, teetering in her high heels, and clutched her stomach. She had a crush on Eric Blackwell. Shaking her head, she resumed her course down the hallway toward the reception area. No doubt about it. She had a full-blown, heart fluttering, face heating, mind wandering, completely infatuated, school-girl quality crush on her firm-mate.

“Hi, Ms. Dixon,” the receptionist said. “Nothing has come for you.” She looked around at the empty lobby. “But, um, your dad’s been up here several times also. Are you waiting for Mr. Blackwell’s clients to come out of the meeting, too?”

Well, that would explain why he hadn’t replied to her text.

“Because they’re super-hot and so worth a look. I can buzz you when they come out. That’s what I’m doing for Mr. Dixon.”

Hot? “No. Thanks, Marcie. I’m about to meet a client anyway. Thanks for the news.”

She highly doubted her dad was stalking Eric’s clients because they were eye candy. It must be the executives from Anderson Enterprises. She turned into her hallway again.

When she was ten feet away from Eric’s office, his door opened. “Thanks for taking the time to go over everything with us in person,” a man’s voice said.

Jane knew she should just keep on walking, but she was way too curious about the deal that had Eric so consumed and her dad so uptight. She stood still, holding her breath and listening.

“I’m sure Cahill Investment Group will grant us the requested concessions in light of the tax ramifications,” the man continued. “They want to sell worse than we want to buy.”

“Speak for yourself, Chance,” another male voice said. “I want to buy pretty damn bad. I want that company. You’ll make it work, right, Eric?”

“I’ll do my best. I should know by our racquetball game tomorrow.”

“I’ve always wanted to say ‘See you in court!’” the last speaker said, “but I guess all I get is ‘see you on the court!’”

Then, two men exited Eric’s office. Whoa had Marcie been right. They were totally worth a look. More than one look, actually, and Jane fought the urge to gawk. They were a few inches taller than Eric, both easily over six feet. Both wore suits but looked very different. One was clean-cut like Eric, and the other had longer hair and a wild edge to him. She recognized the conservative-looking one right away from pictures in the paper and tabloids. Michael Anderson, CEO of Anderson Enterprises. Good. It sounded like the deal wasn’t dead. Maybe Eric would get his promotion to junior partner after all.

Eric followed them out, and as hot as the Anderson brothers were, she found her gaze being pulled back to the shyly confident and just as sexy man standing beside them. All three turned toward her. Oh God, she must look like the worst kind of eavesdropper, lurking in the hall outside his office.

If it bothered Eric, he didn’t let on. A smile that made her want to melt flashed across his face like he was genuinely glad to see her. “Ms. Jane Dixon. I’d like to introduce you to Michael and Chance Anderson.”

Handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged before the three men headed toward the receptionist desk where, no doubt, her father waited in ambush to see how it went.

Before she reached her office door, her phone rang.

“Hi. Is this Jane Dixon?”

“It is.”

“This is Brody Lyons. I’m a friend of Eric Blackwell…”

Chapter Nine

“Oh My God! What happened to your eye?” Jane asked.

Eric had planned on begging off tonight, but changed his mind when Jane’s text came through: “Prepare for an evening of sophistication. In honor of my most recent date from Hell, the evening activities will include Playdoh and juice boxes.”

With that kind of buildup, who could say no—even sporting a spectacular shiner?

She ushered him to the sofa and leaned down to study his face. “Eric Blackwell, did you get in a fight?”

He almost laughed at the censure in her tone. “Yep.”

An expression crossed her face that reminded him of his mom when he’d done something naughty as a little kid.

He held both hands up in surrender. “But it wasn’t my fault.”

Arms crossed over her ribs, she loomed above where he sat on the sofa.

“The racquetball started it… Or maybe Michael did when he smacked the ball into my face.”

Then she laughed. It was a wonderful sound. Hell, he’d take a rubber ball to the eye any day to hear her laugh like that.

“With three brothers, I don’t take kindly to fighting. Sorry I went all mother hen on you.”

“You’re cute when you’re all puffed up with self-righteous indignation.” She was cute all the time, actually, but he’d leave it at that.

Gandalf stuck his freakishly fat head out of the carpeted tower in the corner and hissed. Eric flipped him off.

“Not again,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Rematch, remember?” he called after her, narrowing his eyes on the cat, who stared back. This time, though, the beast didn’t seem hostile. Still, Eric wasn’t one to lose, especially to a flat-faced fur ball.

Jane sat next to him and clunked two beers onto the coffee table. “In honor of my sensational first and only date with your bodybuilder buddy, Brody, we should watch cartoons, or maybe read a picture book.”

He didn’t know Brody that well, other than he could do an unbroken set of fifty pull-ups. He seemed like a nice guy, though. He was an accountant for the city and had been a member of Eric’s gym for over a year. And the best thing about Brody is he’d just broken up with his girlfriend again, and Eric knew they’d make up and be back together next week. Yep. He wasn’t above sabotage at this point. “What did he do?”

“I’m not going to tell you until you are done having a stare-off with my cat. Honestly, I go from one child to another.”

One thing Eric had known since childhood was that he loved to win. That’s why he enjoyed being a lawyer and why he put in terrible hours every day of the week; the win was a thrill. Whether it was successfully negotiating a merger or winning a stare-off with a cat, victory gave him a rush. “This may take a while.”

With a huff, she stood and left the room. A drawer opened and closed in the kitchen, then there was a loud bang.

Eric leaned back, never taking his eyes—well, never taking his one unbruised eye—off the cat.

Another clunk that sounded like a dish being placed on the counter was followed by a click and hiss of a can opener and then a distinctive grind of it being turned.

The sudden noise made Gandalf leap to the floor from his perch in the highest box with surprising agility for something so thick.

“There, you won,” she called from the kitchen.

“Nope. Doesn’t count. There was interference from the audience again.” He went to the kitchen to find Gandalf scarfing some nasty-looking gruel in a bright yellow dish with paw prints painted on the sides. “You’re going to be banned from future matches if you keep causing my opponent to forfeit.”

She held up a small, empty can. “The winner of this round is Fancy Feast. Handle your defeat with dignity, Blackwell.”

“Defeat is never dignified. I might have to throw myself on the floor in a tear-filled tantrum.”

“It wouldn’t be the first one I’ve seen from a full-grown man tonight.”

What the hell happened tonight… He hoped she’d go on, partly from curiosity, partly because hearing about a bombed date made him feel…relieved.

She dug in the pantry and pulled out a bag of Cheetos. “Your friend Brody didn’t take defeat well, either, when I ended the date halfway through.”

God, she was cute. He smiled as he thought of all the times he’d watched her walk down the hall in her business suit, looking over-the-top professional and untouchable with her hair smoothed stylishly back from her face. Never in a million years did he picture her like this, holding Cheetos and beer in warmup pants and a baggy T-shirt… Wait. Holy shit. She didn’t have on a bra.

He closed his eyes, but the image remained. High, round breasts, not large, but perfect… with nipples straining against the soft blue fabric.

I am so screwed.

When he opened his eyes, Jane was at the sink washing the can opener and Gandalf was at his feet, staring up as if trying to communicate. Then he stretched up, placing his paws—claws retracted this time—on Eric’s knee as if he wanted to be picked up.

What the hell. He already had a black eye, what were a few scratches and maybe a bite?

Carefully, he picked the creature up by the rib cage and rested him against his chest, grateful to not be feeling the pointy parts. As soon as he was cradled comfortably, Gandalf began to purr. And it wasn’t a polite thrum, like other cats he’d handled. It was a wheezy, grating rasp that could probably be heard in the next apartment over.

“I don’t believe it,” Jane said, drying her hands. “Just when I thought my day couldn’t get weirder, you prove me wrong.”

Not wanting to press his luck and end up bloody, Eric walked to the carpeted tower in the TV room and gently set Gandalf, still purring, on a flat part of the structure. Jane followed him in and plopped down on the sofa with a huff and a crinkling of the Cheetos bag.

“What happened with Brody?” he asked, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. The suspense was killing him. If that walking steroid had done something to upset her… “He said he was taking you to the museum, which seemed like something you’d like.” Of all the places that seemed public and safe and least likely to see either of them unclothed, that would be it. Eric heartily approved of the location.

“Oh yeah. I love museums. I used to go every Thursday during undergrad. I was really excited to go today, too. Took off work early and everything.” She clicked the TV on and the Weather Channel came up, but it was muted.

“Sooo…”

“So, your friend Brody has the emotional maturity of a nine-year-old.”

Lots of guys did, but he didn’t think pointing that out would help. “What did he do?”

She grabbed the Cheetos and ripped them open, spilling some on her lap. “He giggled.”

“Giggled.”

“Yeah. And pointed.”

He twisted the caps off both beers as she crunched on Cheetos. “Pointed at other people?” He took a swallow of beer. That really didn’t sound like Brody.

“No. He pointed…” A pink flush moved up her face and she took a deep breath. “He pointed at penises.”

It was a struggle to not choke on his beer, or worse yet, spew it from his nose. After he could breathe again, he set the beer down. This conversation was one of the most entertaining he’d ever had. “Whose penises?”

“Everyone’s. Do you know how many penises there are in the Met?”

Now, the conversation had escalated into plain awesome. “I have no idea. How many?”

“Lots. Lots and lots. Probably dozens in the European Paintings Hall alone. Not to mention breasts and…and…well everything.” She took a huge pull on her beer and clicked the channel.

“Everything?” He grabbed the Cheetos bag and grinned. She was so cute, all red-faced and flustered.

She settled for an old horror movie, volume still muted.

He stood and paced the floor in front of the coffee table as if he were delivering a cross-examination of a witness. “So, to summarize for the jury, Ms. Dixon: my workout buddy took you on a date to the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art and proceeded to point at naked genitalia in paintings.”

She nodded, face remarkably serious for a subject so amusing. “And sculptures.”

“And sculptures.” It was all he could do to not bust out laughing, but he continued with his act, pacing the floor with his hands clasped behind his back. “What else did he do?”

“He giggled.”

He stopped and faced her. “Giggled.”

“Yeah. Like a little kid. He pointed and giggled, and I was sure we were going to get kicked out of there, or worse, run into somebody I knew.”

“Well, it’s my belief that the testimony calls for a summary judgment from the court. There is no other option but to insist you never date this giggling genitalia pointer-at-er again.”

“Case closed!” she said, saluting him with her beer.

He joined her on the couch and Gandalf settled in between them to watch the movie, which was a routine he could get used to, even if it meant playing dating service every week. It was going to be hard to find someone she’d less likely want to date than Brody, but Eric did love a challenge. “Court adjourned.”

Chapter Ten

The week after the penis pointer, Jane had a date with a guy who was allergic to peanuts but failed to tell the waiter, then puffed up like a toad when he ate the French fries made with peanut oil. Nothing says romance like a trip to the ER.

Then, a week after that, came the guy who was so obsessed with an online game, he actually played it on his phone under the counter at the bar. She excused herself to use the ladies room and had dinner at the restaurant next door. When she returned forty-five minutes later, the guy was so engrossed in his game, he didn’t notice her grab her jacket and leave. Hopefully, her date with Eric’s friend, Aldo, would go better tonight.

Jane peeked her head out of her office to see if Eric’s morning meeting had ended, but his door was still closed.

Spending time with him after each fiasco was the only high point in all this dating madness. Always funny, always supportive, and always…there. If it weren’t for the fact he was a lawyer, he’d be the ideal man. She heaved a deep, soap opera-worthy sigh, and smoothed her hair, which was rolled into a tight bun. Clearly, her crush on Eric wasn’t fading even a little bit. In fact, it had grown from schoolgirl crush to heavy-duty full-grown-woman crush with all the requisite heated body parts and inappropriate thoughts. Well, the thoughts would have been perfectly appropriate if he’d been anything but a lawyer. Or co-worker. Or interested.

She returned to her desk and stared out the window at the morning rush hour gridlock on the street below. Since it looked like the Anderson deal was going through and she’d gotten excellent settlements on her last two cases, there was a strong likelihood they would both be promoted to junior partner soon. One of them would have to quit if they were to date, and you don’t quit a job when partner’s in the offing. Even if you hate that job.

Her stomach dropped to her feet, and she slumped into her chair as realization hit: she hated her job. That had never occurred to her before.

Dixons were lawyers. All of them. It was what they did. Men and women both. It was a legacy. A right of passage… She looked around her perfectly appointed office at the best law firm, in the best building, in the best part of the city.

She covered her face and took a deep breath. She’d worked hard for this. She’d earned it. She deserved it. She was a Dixon. This was what Dixons did. It was expected of her. She lowered her hands and pushed the intercom button. “Okay, Marcie. I’m ready for my appointment. Please send Mrs. Zimmerman back.”

…

Eric couldn’t believe it. The Anderson contracts were signed by both parties and the financials had been approved by the bankers. He stared at the documents in a tidy pile on his desk and fought the urge to shout and fist-pump in the air.

This was what it was about. This was what he wanted. What he needed. All he needed…

Only, it would be a lot better if he could share his news with Jane. When he’d checked her door a few minutes ago, it was closed with a note saying she was in a client meeting. Funny how over the past month, he’d become so close to her. How sharing good news with her made it even better. They not only had their Friday movie nights, they shared their lunchtime every day as well, ordering in and sitting on opposite sides of his desk, laughing over jokes or childhood stories. Jane Dixon knew more about him than anyone.

He’d been so focused on work and making money the last several years, he’d not maintained any close friendships. His single-minded, focused lifestyle hadn’t bothered him really, until now. Even breaking up with Shannon hadn’t brought home what a workaholic he’d become like this last month had. This was the first time in his adult life that he’d wished for something else. Even with the closing of this pivotal deal, work didn’t feel like enough anymore.

He moved the Anderson papers to the side of his desk.

Surely, this was just a phase. He was probably just getting sick or something. Work was his life. His dad had lived it up and played, and look what a mess that turned out to be.

But there was something about Jane that made him want to play. To work normal hours and come home to her every night and share stories of their days and then strip down to their underwear and…

He opened his file drawer with a bang.

No! No more daydreams about Jane Dixon in her underwear—or out of it. The non-fraternization clause prohibited it. Her distaste for dating lawyers prohibited it. And his commitment to work-first prohibited it.

He pulled out the Smith Steel merger file and set it in the center of his desk. If he could make this merger happen by Monday, the promotion to junior partner was in the bag. While he still had his wits about him, he fired off a text to Jane.

“Can’t make it tonight. Hope it goes well with Aldo.”

Chapter Eleven

Jane pushed the tissue box closer to her client, Kim Zimmerman.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Dixon. I’m just so miserable. I wish I could go back in time and change everything.” She blew her nose and adjusted her designer frames that coordinated with her bag and shoes.

If this woman didn’t get her act together, she’d be accessorizing at Big Bob’s Bargain Store.

Jane sat up straighter, girding herself for the customary speech she delivered when a client exhibited signs of capitulation. “In order to achieve the most beneficial settlement in this divorce, we need to have a strong case to present. Your husband’s lawyer is making unreasonable demands regarding the division of property and it will hurt you and the kids in the long run.”

The woman wasn’t listening, and Jane knew it. She’d seen this hundreds of times: divorce remorse—the case of cold feet that comes after the marital cold feet. If Mrs. Zimmerman didn’t pull herself together, this whole deal might turn into a major loss. This was a nasty, public divorce, and her politician husband was pulling out all the stops since he switched lawyers.

“The goal is to be awarded as much of the property and assets as possible to assure a secure future for you and the kids.”

“No.” Mrs. Zimmerman wiped her eyes. “That’s your goal. My goal is love and happiness for myself and my children.”

Well, what the hell was she supposed to say to that? Nothing, that’s what. What could she say? Her heart went out to her client, and anyone who was in turmoil. Jane’s job, though, was to secure a financial settlement as amicable and profitable as possible for her client—something Mrs. Zimmerman would need when the divorce was finalized and the smoke cleared. She flipped a page in the most recent demands from the spouse’s lawyer.

“Do you have children?” the woman asked.

She got this one a lot. Almost as much as she heard “Why aren’t you dating someone?” from her family.

“No.”

“Are you even married?”

“No.” God, this day sucked so far.

“Then what makes you qualified to sit on the other side of that desk and tell me what I need to do?”

Well, that was a new one. “My law degree and Board Specialization in Family Law.”

The woman sat back and stared at her, and Jane fought the urge to squirm. Her client was clearly hurting, but Jane had no clue how to help her, other than legal recourse.

Kim Zimmerman placed her hand over her heart. “Your qualification should come from here. Everything should come from here.” She pointed to her head. “It’s when our decisions only come from here that we are in trouble. It’s why I’m in trouble right now.”

The primary thing in trouble right now was Mrs. Zimmerman’s future bank account balance. “I understand that you’re unhappy, but if you—”

“Unhappy?” She stood up. “That’s not even close. I’m miserable. I can’t do this anymore. Give him the money. Give him the house. None of that matters.” Her voice was shrill and loud.

Whoa. Jane needed to get the conference back under control so she could help this woman. “What matters to you, then?”

“Love.”

Oh great.

“Love matters,” she continued, twisting the Kleenex in her hands. “I love Bernard. I always have. I knew from the first minute I saw him that he was different. That we belonged together. He was the only man I could be myself with. He still is.” She yanked another Kleenex from the box. “And this is all my fault. We blurted out some foolish things in anger. Things neither of us meant, and now we’re too proud to back down and admit to our friends and family that we were wrong.” She stood and put her bag over her shoulder. “He’s agreed to pay the kids’ school tuition, right?”

“Yes.”

She signed the bottom of the form Mr. Zimmerman’s attorney had sent. “Then, give him the house and anything else he demanded. None of it matters if I don’t have him.”

“I think this is a huge mistake, Mrs. Zimmerman… Kim. Please rethink this.”

She stopped at the door. “You’ve given me lots of advice over the last month, Ms. Dixon, so let me give you some I have learned from this divorce business: act from your heart. Follow your instincts, and never, ever do something because someone else thinks you should.”

Jane sat back and stared at the closed door after Mrs. Zimmerman left. What the hell was that? She’d seen a lot of things: anger, remorse, capitulation, even bone-deep need for revenge—but she’d never seen someone throw her arms up and quit like this.

With a heavy sigh, she dialed Mr. Zimmerman’s lawyer’s office to give him the happy news. When she opened her drawer to pull out a pen to make notes, she saw Eric’s message on her cell. “Can’t make it tonight. Hope it goes well with Aldo.”

It was at that moment Jane Dixon realized just how messed up her life had become.

Chapter Twelve

“Cancelled with Aldo. Need to see you.”

Eric stared at Jane’s text for a full minute before setting his phone on his desk. “Need to see you” was very different than “want to see you.” Hopefully everything was okay. He hadn’t laid eyes on her all day. At noon, he left for a celebratory lunch with Chance and Michael Anderson, and when he returned, she’d left for the day. He’d assumed it was to go meet Aldo.

He’d told himself he was glad she wasn’t there and had even half convinced himself their friendship was a distraction. Now he realized that was all bullshit. He hadn’t gotten a damn thing done all day since he’d decided to back off a bit.

It was only six o’clock. There were three, maybe four good work hours left in the day. His routine before Jane had been to swing by Alastair’s bar on the way home from work on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Since befriending Jane, he’d skipped the bar and worked more on Wednesdays to free up Fridays for movie night. In fact, he’d been working harder than ever to ensure he’d have free time on Fridays. She hadn’t been a distraction at all. She’d been incentive.

He picked up his phone. “Where?”

“My place whenever it’s convenient.”

Well, at least he knew it wasn’t some kind of emergency. He’d clearly read too much into her first message—or maybe he’d applied his own feelings to it.

Need.

Earlier today, he’d decided it would be better to ignore his feelings for her. Shut the door like he always did on fun and distraction. Problem was, he didn’t just want Jane Dixon, he needed her. Maybe it was time to fling that door open for once.

The Smith Steel merger could wait, because Eric couldn’t anymore.

…

Jane opened the door a little too quickly. She should have counted to ten or something. Eric didn’t seem to notice, though. He said his usual “hey” and waited for her to invite him in before heading straight to Gandalf’s tower. The cat had taken a bizarre liking to Eric and would pester them non-stop if he didn’t receive an appropriate greeting.

“So, no date tonight,” Eric said, rubbing the cat’s head.

“Yeah. I just wasn’t feeling it.”

“Hmmm.”

“There’s still some beer left from the six pack you brought last time,” she said, heading to the kitchen. She pulled out two bottles from the fridge and grabbed the bowl of popcorn she’d made earlier.

Their Friday night routine was her favorite thing. He’d greet Gandalf, she’d grab the beer and pick a movie, the cat would snuggle in between them, then she’d spend two hours fighting the urge to keep her hands off of Eric Blackwell.

Tonight felt different. Off. The whole day had been a mess.

“Why did you cancel on me tonight?” She’d planned to work that topic in later, when they had settled in a bit. Her impulse control was at a zero tonight.

“Why did you cancel on Aldo?” His return question was immediate and direct. She’d no doubt he was a fabulous litigator.

Rather than screw everything up before they even began this discussion, she forced what she hoped was a natural smile and headed to the sofa. “You’re still in your suit,” she said, hoping her disappointment wasn’t too obvious. She saw men in suits all day long. Besides, she loved the way he looked in casual clothes. Especially when he wore tight T-shirts that showed off all those CrossFit-honed muscles.

“I came straight from the office.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a chair in the corner. “Come on, Gandalf.” He sat and patted the space between them on the sofa and the cat leaped up, purring in high gear.

In keeping with their routine, she picked up the remote and turned on the TV, settling right away on an old thriller with Jimmy Stewart. She’d seen it before, but couldn’t remember the name.

“You’re going to get cat hair on your suit,” she said as Gandy draped his front half over Eric’s thigh.

“Occupational hazard.”

“What occupation is that?”

“Uh. Professional cat petter, I guess.” He grinned.

“Professional cat petter beats being a lawyer.”

He shook his head, still stroking Gandy. “Nope. Nothing beats being a lawyer.”

Man, he was lucky to love his job. She always thought she’d warm up to it, but never had. On the TV, a man in a full-leg cast watched his neighbor from his wheelchair, using a camera with a huge lens.

She grabbed a handful of popcorn and chewed a few pieces, not tasting it, then muted the TV and swiveled to face him. “I really need to know why you cancelled on me tonight.”

His expression remained completely neutral. “Because I had lots of work to do.”

“You already pushed the Anderson deal through.”

“And now there’s the Smith Steel merger.”

Part of her was hugely relieved. She’d had a suspicion he was sick of her. That whatever it was that caused every man to send Dear Jane texts had finally hit him. The other part was disappointed movie night wasn’t as special to him as it was to her and he’d ditch it for work.

The gorgeous blonde woman in the movie unpacked a tiny suitcase containing only a frilly nighty and bedroom slippers, making a big show of it for the man in the wheelchair. She wondered if Eric would find work as interesting if she pulled something like that out during their lunch in his office.

With her luck, probably.

He reached for his beer. “So, why did you cancel your date with Aldo?”

“I don’t know.”

“Objection.” He lifted the cat’s face by the chin. “Judge Gandalf, the witness is being uncooperative.”

“Objection overruled. The witness is answering to the best of her ability.” Which was a straight-up lie. She’d cancelled because she was sick of kidding herself. The only good thing in her life right now was Eric, and he’d cancelled on her. What was the purpose of a pointless date without the debriefing from Eric afterward?

“Perjury carries a huge penalty. Sometimes even a jail sentence.” His expression was tender. “Why did you cancel, Jane?” He covered the cat’s ears and whispered, “Off the record.”

“I…” Well, shit. What could she say without letting on she’d fallen for him? That every time a date fell through, she was relieved because she’d be seeing him that much sooner. That if he weren’t a lawyer, she’d have jumped him weeks ago—hopefully without knocking anything over or setting a table on fire.

He leaned close enough for her to smell starch and aftershave. “Is it because you’re afraid of failure? This first-date-only losing streak you have going is bound to break soon.”

“It’s not that.” Her heart hammered in her throat at his nearness and her whole body heated. All she had to do was turn her head and their lips would meet.

“What is it, then?” He tucked her hair behind her ear and his breath fanned across her neck, causing her lower body to tighten.

She heard Kim Zimmerman’s voice in her head. “Act from your heart.”

And just like that, she summoned the courage to do what she’d wanted to do since she met him. She placed her hands on either side of his face and pressed her mouth to his. Lightly. Tentatively.

He didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t pull away or freak out, either, so she traced his lips with her tongue, willing him to kiss her back.

And that did the trick because, man, oh, man, did he kiss her back. With a groan, he twined his fingers through the hair at the base of her skull and tilted her head, then took her mouth, his tongue sliding along hers, tasting, testing, making her light-headed. This man drove her crazy, and she wanted more of him. She ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he made a gratified sound, deep in this throat, fingers tightening in her hair as he kissed her with so much intensity and passion, it left her dizzy and gasping for breath.

“Shit, Jane,” he said with a smile, gasping for air himself.

Between them, Gandy grumbled.

“Sorry, Judge.” He nudged Gandy off the couch. “Court adjourned. No need for further litigation. I think both parties have reached a satisfactory agreement.” The cat jumped up into his box with a parting glare.

“Watch it,” she teased, “or Judge Gandy might slap you with a Disorderly Conduct charge.”

“You can count on it, counselor,” he said, loosening his tie. “Disorderly…” He pulled her into his lap sideways, placing her over the hard bulge in his pants. “Reckless…” His lips met hers again, and she moaned as their tongues tangled and his hands roamed up and down her back. “But completely justifiable.” He tugged the bottom of her T-shirt free from her jeans. “Because Jane Dixon…” Off went the shirt over her head. He stilled for a moment, taking her in from her navel to her purple lace bra to her face. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and no jury in the world would convict me for wanting to kiss you.” He delivered another breath-stealing kiss. “Or touch you.” He trailed the fingers of one hand up her belly, causing a riot of sensation that made her squirm in his lap. He brushed along the undersides of her breasts, then traced the lace pattern of her bra, circling one nipple, then the other. “Or taste you.”

Holy shit. She’d been totally right that first day about him being full of surprises. Jane held on for dear life as he ran his lips down her neck and between her breasts, kissing as he went. “What about…” Her brain shut off as he took a nipple in his mouth and spikes of heat shot from where he worked his tongue in a slow, deliberate circle, to low in her belly.

He stopped long enough to say, “What about what?” before moving to the other breast.

“Uh.” Her head fell back and she shifted in his lap, which elicited a gratifying groan from deep in his throat. “What about the non…” Another groan from him kicked her adrenaline even higher. “Non-fraternization clause?”

God, his hands felt good. His tongue felt good. Everything about him felt good.

He stopped and her body screamed in protest when he straightened to look her in the eye.

“As your attorney, I represent you in this”—he gestured back and forth between them—“matter. There is strict client/attorney privilege. Nothing that occurs between us will leave this room. For the sake of both of our jobs, I suggest you adopt the same policy with regard to our current situation.” He winked and her heart skipped a beat.

Raising her right hand as if swearing in, she placed her left on his chest. “I solemnly swear that what happens on Jane’s sofa, stays on Jane’s sofa.”

“What about him?” He hitched a thumb at Gandy, who was licking his paw near his tower.

“He’s been sworn to secrecy under penalty of dry food for the rest of his life.”

He nodded in approval, and she marveled at the turn of events. This was the most fun she’d ever had with a man—and they’d only kissed and done a little groping. Reckless as it was, not only with respect to her job but to their friendship as well, she wanted more. Much more. She wanted Eric Blackwell to make love to her and make her forget her clients with their failed relationships, and her family with their unrealistic expectations. She wanted to forget about her own misery with her job and her dating life, and with herself. But mostly, she wanted him.

Maybe Kim Zimmerman was right. Maybe from now on she should make all her decisions with her heart. She’d used her head and education and that hadn’t worked. This worked. This man. Right here. Right now.

She grabbed his tie and pulled him back in for another round of kisses. Every now and then, he’d laugh and she’d laugh right along with him. She couldn’t help it. She was having so much fun. The best time of her life.

More. She needed more of this man. Less clothes. More skin. More Eric. She rearranged to where she straddled him, and he groaned. She loved the noises he made. They made her forget how professionally inappropriate getting intimate with him was—or maybe those sexy noises just made her not care. Not care she was his boss’s daughter. Not care that he was a co-worker. Not care that he was her taboo: a lawyer.

After another long, passionate kiss, she reached between them and yanked on the bottom of his shirt to free it from his pants. Somehow, in the process, she kicked the bottom of the coffee table, launching both beer bottles like rockets in a perfect trajectory for the couch.

Everything moved in slow motion for a minute as she frantically reached out to intercept one of the bottles before it hit the sofa, but instead of making a save, she knocked it up in the air again, where it rotated and splattered both of them with beer, landing in his lap between them. The other bottle landed benignly, somewhere on the floor, along with her pride.

Shit, shit, shit. She did it every time.

Hand over mouth, she stumbled to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Eric. Really.”

The look on his face was unreadable. It was stuck somewhere between surprise and horror.

In a panic, she looked around for a blanket or something to sop up the mess, but settled for a throw pillow, using it like a sponge to soak up the beer on his chest and lap. Why, why, why did she always do something that messed everything up. She thought she’d finally found someone she was comfortable enough with to not commit this kind of nonsense. Obviously not.

And then, Eric Blackwell did the most remarkable thing.

He laughed.

Chapter Thirteen

Eric laughed so hard, his stomach hurt. The look of horror on Jane’s face when that bottle landed in his lap was epic…and adorable. And then the sponge routine with the fluffy pillow: too cute.

“There are better ways to cool things down,” he said, catching his breath.

She sat facing him on the coffee table, covered her face, and groaned. “That wasn’t my intention at all.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet in front of him. “Good, because it didn’t work.” He gestured to the erection tenting his beer-soaked pants. “I offer into evidence, Exhibit A.”

“No objection,” she said with a smile.

Palm on her shoulder, he guided her to lie back on the sofa, then sat on the edge, skimming his fingers over her smooth, beer-splattered skin. He traced up her body to the hollow of her throat, which moved when she swallowed. Her pupils had expanded, her blue irises reduced to narrow rings. He’d dreamed this. Fantasized it as she’d walked down the hallway, oblivious he even existed. And now, here he was, living that dream. “Moving too fast?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? We’ve been having foreplay for a month now, and I didn’t even realize it.”

“I did.” He drew his fingers back down, between her breasts and over her bra clasp, which would only be serving its intended function a few more minutes, across her abdomen to her jeans. When he popped the button, she gasped, and he got even harder.

She reached up and ran her hands over his chest. “Your shirt’s wet.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll lay odds your panties are wet.”

She said in mock horror, “Oh my God. Who are you? What have you done with attorney Eric Blackwell?”

“Eric Blackwell needed a recess.”

“He also needs to take his shirt off.” She fumbled and eventually removed his tie. He sat patiently as she undid his dress shirt buttons, then stripped off his shirt. “Damn.” She ran her hands over his chest and down over his abs. He knew what she saw. He’d worked hard on his body. Other than movie night with Jane, it was the one indulgence he allowed outside of work: a quick, intense workout every day before work. It kept him sane. Watching her as she explored him, though, was an added benefit.

“Who knew,” she said, “that diligent, hard-working, quiet, Eric Blackwell, Esquire, was a hot, sexy man.”

“You knew,” he challenged.

She ran her thumb over his lips. “What other secrets do you have?”

He trapped her wrist and sucked her thumb into his mouth, circling it with his tongue until she moaned and he released her. “I have a thing for crossword puzzles.” He pushed her back down to her back on the sofa. “And chocolate chip ice cream.” He ran his hands up her ribs. And you, he thought as he undid the clasp on the front of her bra. I have a serious thing for you, Jane Dixon.

…

I am so screwed, Jane thought as Eric unsnapped her bra and placed his warm palms over her breasts. Her crush was morphing into something else entirely every minute she spent with him. He was fun. Flat-out fun. And a wicked-smart lawyer—which was the problem.

He scooted back on the sofa and leaned down, his warm breath fanning over her chest. Suddenly, the lawyer problem took a back seat to the heat roaring through her body, coalescing between her legs. She cried out when he touched his tongue to her nipple, then moaned as his lips met her flesh, his tongue making hot, slow circles.

She sank her fingers into his hair, pulling him even closer, encouraging him to take her deeper in his mouth. The man had some serious skills, so serious, she was pretty sure she could come just from this. Well, the fact it had been so long probably played into it, too, but before that could happen, he sat up and then stood, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. Her head spun from the excitement and sudden change of position.

“May I?” he asked, running his fingers inside the waistline of her jeans.

Afraid she would only squeak or say something embarrassing, she nodded, and he unzipped her jeans and pulled them down. She stepped out, wearing only her purple lace panties.

“So pretty,” he said, running the tip of his forefinger over the lace on her hipbone. “Were you wearing these under your suit today?”

She shook her head. She’d changed when she got home.

He met her gaze directly. “Did you put them on for me?”

Not waiting for an answer, he kissed her, fingers still toying with the purple lace. Of course she had. She wasn’t sure what to expect tonight, but she’d hoped, deep inside, that something like this would happen.

“Counselor,” she said, pulling her mouth from his. “There is a great disparity in our states of undress. I appear to be at a significant disadvantage.”

He chuckled. “Allow me to remedy that, posthaste.”

And in no time, he’d shed his shoes, socks, suit pants, and boxers, all piled unceremoniously on the floor in a heap, leaving him gloriously naked and obviously pleased with that state.

Jane didn’t even try to hide the fact she was ogling him. Unabashed, she checked him out from head to toe and it didn’t seem to bother him one bit. Eric Blackwell was beautiful. No doubt about it. Hidden under that business suit were a muscular chest, ridged abdomen, a narrow waist, and an erection that made her mouth water. The man’s body was a total lotto jackpot, and at that moment, she was holding the winning ticket.

She crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close, loving the feel of his naked skin against hers.

“Jane…” he whispered into her hair.

“Yes.”

It was only one tiny three-letter word, but it might as well have been a complete manifesto. From the moment she said it, the tone changed. It went from carefree and playful to something far more driven and intense. Something meaningful.

He moved the coffee table a few feet into the room, then guided her to sit on the sofa. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and pulled them off, dropping to his knees in front of her, next to his pile of discarded clothes. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited to see what he would do.

His hands were warm and firm as he trailed them up the insides of her thighs, urging them farther apart. He gently ran his thumbs over her center, and she bucked. The edges of his lips curled and he did it again, this time with more purpose, and it felt like electricity shot from his fingers into her body. Parting her, he ran his tongue where his thumbs had been, stopping and circling her most sensitive spot. Holy crap. Nothing had ever felt this good. Her head swam as her body hummed with electricity. She cried his name, and he circled faster, placing his mouth over her and taking her right to the edge.

It had been so long. So, so long since she’d found release with someone. And it had never been like this. Effortless and natural. No pretense. No worries he wasn’t into it. She had no doubt he was enjoying himself as he moaned and his tongue stroked her in a steady rhythm, hands roving up to her breasts.

She buried her fingers in his hair, urging him on as the tension built in her body. A sharp tweak of her nipples was all it took to send her there. Soaring, humming ecstasy rolled through her in wave after wave, her fingers digging into his hair as she screamed his name.

She didn’t have a clue how long it went on or how long she sat, arm over her eyes on the sofa as she came down from the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. Maybe it was the timing, or the fact it had been so long, or maybe it was her lack of self-consciousness with this man who made her laugh and had so many surprises up his sleeve…

Only he wasn’t wearing sleeves. He was completely naked on his knees between her legs. She dropped her arm and stared into his rich, brown eyes.

“Better?” The cocky smile on his face let her know the answer was as obvious to him as it was to her.

She grinned and sat up enough to touch him. He sucked in air through his teeth when she ran her hands down his abs, then exhaled in a puff as her fingers explored his erection.

“Yeah, I’m better,” she said. “But I could be even better.”

“I’m all ears.”

She circled the head of his penis with her forefinger. “No, you’re not.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through his nose, as if summoning control—but she didn’t want him in control. She wanted him full-out crazy with lust, like she’d been only a short while ago. So, she scooted back farther and, leaning down, she replaced her finger with her tongue, circling him, then drawing him into her mouth.

“Holy…ah, God, Jane.” His body shuddered when she pulled back and then took him in deep again. “I want…” He put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her before she did it again. “I want…” He gave a frustrated huff, like he couldn’t find words—or was hesitant to say them.

“What?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to her, legs wrapped around him, his hardness fitting perfectly against her. They both groaned and she dropped her head back against the sofa cushion.

He thrust slightly, and the hard ridge of him slid through her wetness, making her body tighten all over again. “That,” he said. “You. I want you. To make love to you like I’ve dreamed of for almost two years.”

Holy shit. How had she missed that? Better yet, how had she been missing out on that?

Because she’d been leading with her head, not her heart.

“Yes.” The word slipped out of her mouth as if of its own accord. Only this time when she said it, he smiled and her heart expanded to fill her chest. “I want you, too.”

He made another long, purposeful glide forward and back. “I can’t believe I’m here. With you.”

She tightened her legs around him. “Why?”

Another grind, this time with more pressure, gliding across just the right spot to make her gasp. “I’ve been like that guy in the wheelchair in the movie. Stuck. Helpless to do anything but watch the world. To watch you walk by my door day after day. And I was too stuck in my own routine to break the pattern. To take a chance.”

“I’m here. We’re here.”

And then he kissed her—more like devoured her, and she loved it, running her hands across his pecs and ribs.

“Need to be in you,” he rasped in her ear.

“Yes.”

Then he pulled away, and cold air swirled where his body had been, everything in her complaining at the lack of contact. He leaned down and pulled a wallet out of his pants on the floor.

“You’d better not have a picture of your mom in there.”

His smile was gorgeous. “In fact, I do not. Nor, do I have a ‘condom of questionable vintage.’” He held up a square packet. “I have a condom of known vintage. I bought it tonight on my way here. The rest of the box is in my jacket…just in case.” He winked.

She draped her arms over the back of the sofa and arched an eyebrow. “So you planned this?”

“No. Things like this can’t be planned.” He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a tender embrace, almost reverent. “I hoped.”

If she hadn’t completely fallen for Eric before this moment, she certainly had now.

…

Still on his knees between her thighs, Eric pulled Jane to the edge of the sofa and stared for a moment at her beautiful body. From her high, firm breasts to the blonde curls where he was poised to enter her, she was a complete fantasy. He took himself in hand and rubbed against her opening and she writhed, spreading her legs even wider to receive him. The whole thing seemed like a dream, and he fought the urge to shake his head to clear it.

“Please, Eric. Now.”

Yes, now. Slowly, he held his breath and entered her, watching where they joined in near disbelief. Her breasts rose and fell with her quick pants, her body squeezing his. So good. So tight. Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing had ever been this good.

She moaned with pleasure, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He drove in the rest of the way until he filled her completely and gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to thrust fast like his body demanded. She inhaled with a hiss as he pulled almost all the way out then began another slow thrust.

This might be the only time, he warned himself. Slow. Make it last.

But everything in him screamed go. And then Jane did, too, with a whimpered, “More.”

And then he gave up holding back and moved, hard and fast. She grinned, and so did he. Then, he pulled out and did it again and again, gaining speed and thrusting harder each time until they both were sweaty and gasping for air. He reached down where their bodies joined to massage her. With the first circle of his thumb, she tightened around him and called out his name. After a few more circles, she closed her eyes and arched her back, nearly making him lose his mind at the mere sight. Then she screamed out and her body contracted around him in waves. He stared down, willing the image of her like this to imprint on his brain permanently. Even if she never allowed him to touch her again, he would remember this forever—her cries as she thrashed her head from side to side; the way she contracted around him, her legs locked behind his back; the way his name sounded as her orgasm grew. As much as he wanted to stay joined like this forever, his body won out, and with one final thrust, he lost himself completely, in mindless bliss that went on and on until he couldn’t move another muscle. Everything else in the world had faded away to the edges of his life, and there was only the two of them, sweaty and sated. Nothing else mattered. Not work. Not the promotion. Nothing but this woman.

She unwrapped her legs from around him. “My sofa will never be the same.”

“My knees will never be the same.” Worse than that, though, his heart would never be the same.

Chapter Fourteen

Jane’s neck ached and her arm was asleep. Not the tingly kind of sleep, but totally numb. An infomercial was on TV about some kind of kitchen slicer/dicer. She’d never need something like that. She did takeout on weeknights because she didn’t get home before nine thirty, and weekends were for recovering from the work week, not learning to cook.

But she’d like to learn to cook. She’d like to learn a lot of things…

Like how to stop killing herself for a job she hated, and how to tell her family to screw off the next time they mocked or pressured her about dating.

Behind her on the sofa, Eric shifted and pulled her closer. “Good morning,” he whispered. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Good morning. It’s coffee. I have it on a timer.” She rolled a little to relieve the arm, but it wasn’t enough.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Sofa’s a bit small. My arm’s asleep.”

“I suggested we move to the bedroom last night, but you were opposed.”

Yes. Completely opposed. Sofa meant fling. Bedroom meant something more, like a relationship. Neither of them would benefit from taking this any further than the sofa.

“Was that the second or third time? My memory’s a little hazy,” she said with a yawn. From the foot of the sofa, Gandy yawned, too, and stretched.

Eric trailed his fingers over her hip and grew hard against her backside. “Let me jog your memory.”

God, he was unstoppable, but this whole thing needed to come to a quick halt. Last night was amazing. If she were given a do-over, she’d do it exactly the same way all over again. But it couldn’t be an ongoing thing. They’d get caught and lose their jobs. Or worse, she’d get caught up and lose her heart. She pushed up to sit, shaking her head to clear it.

His warm hand rubbed up and down her back. “No remorse, Jane. Last night was incredible. Don’t ruin it with regret.”

She clicked off the enthusiastic onion chopping lady on TV. “I have no regrets.”

His expression was skeptical.

“Well, I have lots of regrets about my life, but none about last night.”

He sat up beside her, still naked. “What about your life do you regret?”

Oh God. It was the morning-after heart-to-heart. She shrugged. “Leading with my head.”

He studied her. “Instead of…?”

She stood and wrapped a throw blanket from the couch around her. “I have this client.” Was she really going to go there? Yep. She needed to work though this, and he was the one to work it out with. “She’s in the middle of a nasty divorce. Only, she doesn’t want it. She rolled right over and gave in to every demand because if she can’t have her husband back, nothing else matters.”

“Makes for a crappy settlement.”

“She said something to me, and I can’t quit thinking about it.”

Reaching down to his pile of clothes on the floor, he pulled on his boxers. “Which was?”

God, it felt good to have someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge her. At least she hoped he wouldn’t. “She said that I should act from my heart and follow my instincts.” She shot a look to find him studying her, listening with his head tilted, like she loved. “And you know what? I think she’s right. I act based on intellectual analysis, which almost always goes against my instinct.”

He took her hand between his and squeezed reassuringly. “Well, clearly, you’ve not steered yourself too wrong. Look at your success.”

“No. That’s not it. I’m successful, yes. But…” How could she explain it without sounding like a soap opera? I’m not happy seemed so sappy. She swiveled to face him, rearranging the blanket over her knees. “Last night was the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time, and even that was tempered with negativity from my logical side, telling me all the things that could go wrong because of it.”

“Nothing will go wrong.”

“Yes, but it could.”

He leaned back and ran his hands over the dark stubble that had grown overnight. He was gorgeous this way: rumpled, stubbly, voice still husky from sleep—and it sickened her she’d never see him like this again.

If only she were more like him, happy with his job and life. “If you could have any other job in the world, what would it be?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “Working at the firm is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and I love it. I’d like it to be a little more laid back, but law is my thing.”

Snuggling back into the sofa, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, memorizing his smell. She was going to miss this.

“What would you do if you could do anything else in the world?” he asked, leaning his head on hers.

“I don’t know. I used to know.” And a huge smile crossed her lips at the memory.

“Tell me.”

“It’s silly.”

“Nothing about you is silly—well, except for your cat. He’s silly.”

Gandalf meowed from the kitchen, as if he knew they were discussing him.

“He’s making his breakfast order.” She rose, still cocooned in the blanket, and shuffled to the kitchen. By the time she opened the cat food can, Eric appeared, still in his underwear.

“Sorry about your clothes.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she dumped the can in Gandy’s dish. “Good thing I won’t need clothes all weekend.”

She smiled despite her reservations. What harm could the rest of the weekend do? her heart asked. A whole hell of a lot, her brain answered.

…

The cat food stank to high heaven, but Jane smelled fantastic. Eric stepped back as she set the bowl down for Gandalf, then wrapped her in his arms again when she stood, loving the smell of shampoo, salt, and the slightest hint of sex. “You didn’t answer my question.”

And she wasn’t going to. She pulled out a skillet. “Two eggs or three?”

“Three.” He leaned against the counter and watched her fumble around with the stove, still draped in her blanket. “Plus, an answer to my question. What would you do if you could have any job in the world?”

She placed the egg carton on the counter, but kept her back to him. “I’d open a pet care boutique.”

Never in a million years would he have guessed that. Doctor, astronaut, scientist, professor, but never a pet shop owner. While she cracked eggs, he poured two cups of coffee, staying silent to avoid saying the wrong thing.

“See? I told you it was silly.” With awkward, jerky movements, she dropped the shells in the trash. “Ridiculous.” She cracked several more eggs into the bowl while he decided on the most effective response.

He took a sip of coffee. “Like dog food and cat food, leashes, maybe sell some animals kind of place?”

With a fork, she beat the eggs. He was troubled she still hadn’t faced him since making this confession.

“Yes and no. We wouldn’t sell animals. There are too many in shelters.” She stopped feverishly whipping the eggs as if caught up in a memory. “We had it all planned out. We’d call it Animal Attraction and have pet-based services for working people in the city. Dog walking, boarding, washing, home-sitting, training, vet services.” She spoke faster as she went, caught up by excitement.

When she returned to beating the eggs, he moved near and turned on the burner under the pan and found some oil, pouring a bit in the bottom. “So, who is ‘we’?”

“Ugh.” She dropped the fork in the sink. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He took the bowl of eggs and poured them in the pan and handed her a spatula from the utensil cup near the stove. He thought it best to let her lead this conversation, so he didn’t push. Hopefully, she’d open up and he could hear the rest of this surprising information. He found a partial loaf of bread in the pantry and popped two pieces in the toaster, then hit the fridge in search of butter and jam.

“We came up with the plan when we were in second grade. Originally, it was just me and my best friends, Caitlin Ramos and Fiona Nichol. Then others joined in over the years. By the time we were in eighth grade, we had it all mapped out.” She ran the spatula around the outside rim of the pan, loosening the eggs. “We really believed we could make it happen. Even through high school and undergrad, Caitlin, Fee, and I schemed to open Animal Attraction.”

“But you went to law school instead.”

“Originally, I figured a law degree would be helpful as a small business owner. Then, I guess I grew up and realized Animal Attraction was just a silly pipe dream. There was no way we could make it work. That kind of store needed to be in the heart of the city and wouldn’t work out where rents are cheaper because we needed a dense pool of working people. Professionals with money who needed help keeping their pets healthy and comfortable.”

He placed the butter and jam on the table. “In other words, you’d either need partners with deep pockets, or investors.”

“It was easier to just follow my brothers over to DR&S and not make waves.”

He pulled out two plates from the cabinet. “Where are Caitlin and Fiona now?”

She shook her head. “Fiona became a veterinarian and works in Brooklyn. We have coffee every now and then. I have no idea where Caitlin is. She dropped out of college and married some guy whose family made electric yard equipment or something. The last time I saw her was at the wedding six years ago. They moved to Georgia, and she just sort of dropped off. No return calls or anything. Oh shit. I’m burning this.”

He relieved her of the pan and scooped the eggs out, letting the stuck burned part stay in the bottom of the skillet. After running water in the pan, he grabbed the toast and placed both plates on the table. “You’re more distracted than usual.”

She grabbed her cup of coffee from the counter and joined him at the table. “It’s the Dear Jane effect. If the guy doesn’t strikeout right away, I get all nervous and flustered and weird. It’s why I haven’t been asked on a second date since graduation. It never hits me in my job, only when I’m one on one with a guy in a romantic setting.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Romantic, huh?” Her blush was adorable. Leaning across the tiny table, he cupped her cheek in his palm, then pulled her closer and kissed her. “Dear Jane. I’ve been here every Friday night for five weeks, and we’ve had lunch together every day for three weeks. Taking that into consideration, as well as the nature of our interaction last night, I’d venture to say, you’ve had a second date.”

Her grin made his chest tight.

After they’d finished breakfast she took him by the hand and he followed, not caring what she was up to as long as she took him with her. “Where are you taking me, Jane?”

Her eyes sparkled as if she knew the punchline to some inside joke. “My bedroom.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sunday came way too soon for Eric.

Jane had already blow dried her hair by the time he got out of the shower around four thirty in the afternoon. She looked like a dream brushing her long blonde hair, which only an hour ago had been fanned across her pillows as they’d made love. “I’m really sorry about ending our weekend,” she said. “My family always has an early dinner together on Sundays.”

Eric slid on his beer-stained suit slacks, then went to work on his socks and shoes. “I understand.” His head did, but his heart didn’t. Everything in him wanted to attempt persuading her to stay longer with him. Maybe this was what his dad had felt like. Conflicted by the choice of doing what was expected or what was more fun. Clearly, Jane had more self-discipline than he did. Instead of making a pitch for her to stay home, he tied his shoe.

She smoothed her hair back and twisted it into a knot on the back of her head.

Shirtless, and still wet from his shower, he stood behind her and their eyes met in the vanity mirror. “Why don’t you leave your hair down?”

“I always put it up like this for work and when I go do things with my family.” She placed a bobby pin in the bun, then another to hold it in place.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, their gazes still locked in the mirror. “I understand you want that slick, professional look for clients, but why wear it like that at dinner with your family?” He leaned close to her ear. “It’s beautiful down. And incredibly sexy.”

She licked her lips and shifted in her seat, her body clearly as affected by his nearness as he was by hers. Then, she shook her head and broke the spell. “Family is business. It’s always a fight to be taken seriously.”

“I take you seriously.”

“Yeah, but you don’t count.”

He stepped back, completely stricken. He thought he’d gotten over this. That all these years working to prove his dad wrong had obliterated the hurt. Wordlessly, he slid on his wrinkled shirt and started buttoning it from the bottom, too shaken to get the button through on the first try as his memory took him back to when he was five years old in the hallway outside his parents’ door.

“This is Eric’s first T-ball game. Please stay,” his mother begged. Wearing his favorite Superman pajamas—the ones with the cape that Velcroed on—Eric placed his ear against the door, holding his breath to hear his father’s response.

“You’ve known about this camping trip for six weeks. I can’t just tell the guys no this late. I won’t let them down like that.”

“Your friends will be fine without you. Think of Eric. Don’t let him down.”

“Leave him out of it. This is between you and me.”

Eric cracked the door open and peeked into the room. Neither of them noticed as he slipped inside.

His father shook a finger at his mother, who clasped her hands in front of her like Eric did when he needed to pee. His father’s face was pinched and angry. “It’s not that you want me to stay. It’s that you don’t want me to go and have fun, isn’t that it?”

Five-year-old Eric’s voice was high and light. “I want you to stay, Daddy.”

His father’s reaction was immediate. “You don’t count.”

It was the last time he’d seen his father alive and the first time he’d seen his mother cry.

Jane stood at her dressing table. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Mom had said the same thing about his father all those years ago—that he didn’t mean it the way it sounded—but Eric knew better as the tears rolled down his mother’s cheeks and the front door slammed.

Jane took his face in her hands. “Listen to me. Of course you count. I love that you take me seriously and you think I’m sexy with my hair down.” She released him and he robotically resumed buttoning his shirt. “My family judges me and always tells me what I’m doing wrong.”

He glanced at his watch and purposefully kept his voice level. “You’re going to be late.”

…

Something was going on with Eric. Something weird. Jane followed him from her bedroom into the living room. As he picked up his jacket from where he’d hung it over the chair on Friday, her heart pounded so hard it hurt. This was the Dear Jane effect times ten. No, times a thousand. She had to find a way to make it right. “What I meant was they’re my family and I have to interact with them the rest of my life. And you and I…” It was as if a switch had flipped somewhere and all emotion had left his eyes. Oh shit. That was the wrong thing to say, too.

He slid on his coat. “You and I, what?”

Oh God. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The rest of the sentence was a blank.

“I’ll give it a go, then, and fill in the blanks for you.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if getting himself together. “You said, ‘I have to interact with them the rest of my life. And you and I are…’” he repeated, voice distant. “… Temporary…or a passing thing…or insignificant…” He paused for a moment. “Or maybe you were going to say that you and I are a mistake.”

“No!” She blocked his path to the door. “Nothing about this is a mistake. That’s not what I was going to say at all.” She had to find a way to get through to him.

He folded his arms over his chest and simply stared.

“I don’t know how to fix this. I must have hit a trigger or said what some girlfriend said or something.” That seemed to bring him back to focus, and he looked at her directly. At least she had his attention now. She needed to make it count.

“This has been the best few days I can remember,” she started. She relaxed a little when he tilted his head, like he did when he was really listening. “Nothing about this is insignificant. This might be the most significant thing to happen in my adult life.” He unfolded his arms, and she rejoiced inside that he was hearing her. “More than anything in the world, I want this to be a normal relationship. One where we can go out in public and I take you to dinner with my family on Sundays.” Tears pricked behind her eyes. “But we can never do that. You and I both knew what we were getting into from our very first kiss.” Only she really hadn’t. She didn’t know she’d care about him this much. “Our annual reviews are in a few days. There’s a lot at stake. We have to keep what happened between us under wraps or both of us go down. We’ve worked way too hard to blow it now. But I want you to know this weekend meant a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.” She reached out to brush her fingers along his jaw, which had almost three days of growth. “I’m sorry I spoke without thinking.”

“Sorry I overreacted.” He opened his arms, and she stepped into them with a sigh. “You’re right. My response was based on past experience.” He smoothed his hands up her spine and back down again.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No. I want to kiss you.”

She held up a finger, then pulled her cell out of her pocket and left a message for her dad that she was going to be late. Something she’d never done before.

As she led him back to the bedroom, she wished this fairy-tale weekend would never end. And that was the real problem: it was a fantasy that couldn’t last. She’d fallen completely for Eric Blackwell, and there was no way on earth this would end with “…and they lived happily ever after.”

Chapter Sixteen

Eric would never get enough of Jane. When he left her place Sunday, he was fairly certain they wouldn’t be together intimately again. Fortunately, he was wrong.

After four days of hell, both of them reached a tipping point yesterday at lunch and they ended up locking his office door and using his desk for much better things than financial risk analysis.

As he stared out his office window, he imagined not having constraints on their relationship. What it would be like to date her openly without the danger of losing his job looming over his head. To tell the whole world that he was crazy about her.

He’d never know.

With a sigh, he flipped the page of the report he’d been studying.

His calendar app dinged with a reminder about his annual review at two o’clock that afternoon, and his heart sank. He’d looked forward to this meeting all year. Now, it seemed more a threat than something to anticipate. Instead of achieving a life goal, this review represented a wedge between him and Jane. While he was at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot, he could never really be with her. Not like he wanted.

He closed the file. Leaving the firm wasn’t a viable option. It would mean giving up what he’d worked for since deciding to be a lawyer his sophomore year in high school.

All those years to get to this point.

But then, there were all those years that loomed ahead without Jane.

He placed the file in his drawer and grabbed his phone and wallet. Since Jane had a catered lunch coming in for her team meeting, she wouldn’t be popping in today to surprise him with creative uses for his office furniture.

He knew he should order in and work through lunch as always. He needed to put the finishing touches on the Smith Steel merger but couldn’t concentrate. He felt cooped up. Trapped in his office. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to go out to lunch for once.

Maybe Jane was right. Maybe taking time off was healthy. Hell, maybe he’d even walk through the park. He hadn’t done that since taking this job two years ago. The weather was beautiful, and he could easily make it back before his review at two o’clock.

…

Jane couldn’t focus. Her annual review was that afternoon at four, and she had no idea how it would go, especially in light of the dismal outcome of the Zimmerman case. Worse than that, she honestly didn’t care. She shoved her salad around on her plate and feigned interest in her colleague’s report, but heard none of it. Her mind kept drifting to yesterday at lunch when she and Eric had made love in his office. She smiled and speared a cherry tomato. The look on his face when he realized she didn’t have on panties under her pencil skirt was priceless.

“So the client is pleased with the settlement and has already listed her brownstone for sale,” her team member said. “You’re on, Jane.”

They’d already made it through all five attorneys and it was her turn to report. “I, uh…” Glancing up, she winced at the perplexed looks on her colleagues’ faces. Ordinarily, she was totally on top of things. Now, all she could think about was getting on top of Eric. Or under him, or in front of him… Shit.

She cleared her throat and shuffled the agenda to the left of her salad. “Yes. Well, my only settlement this week was the Zimmerman case.”

No one moved. This was a big case and had been on the news as much as the weather report.

“My client…” She sighed. “My client gave up everything.”

There was a moment of frozen silence followed by shifting in chairs. Finally, Fran, an attorney who had been with Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot for five years, spoke up. “Why did you let her do that?”

“I can’t make her fight. I can only present the facts and my legal opinion.”

“Okay then, why did she go against your advice? I mean, that’s nuts. She lost millions.”

Because my advice was bad. My advice didn’t come from the heart. “She wants her husband, not the material wealth.”

The general outrage around the table buzzed in her head like a swarm of angry bees. The firm was paid. What did they care? “It’s not always about money and power,” she said, feeling oddly defensive. “It’s not about doing something because that’s what conventional wisdom, or your friends or family, or even your attorney tell you to do.”

Everyone at the conference table fell silent.

“Sometimes, you do something because your heart tells you to. Because…”

The room closed in all of a sudden, as her own heart made something terribly clear. She loved Eric. Was madly, crazy in love with him. And this job? She hated it with everything in her.

“Are you okay, Jane?”

She had no idea who had spoken. Not a clue, and it didn’t matter. Suddenly everything was crystal clear. “Yeah. I’m great. Amazing, actually.” She closed her file, and as her colleagues sat in shocked silence, Jane pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it free, then left the conference table without looking back.

Chapter Seventeen

Eric leaned back on the park bench and stared at the clouds. Instantly, his mind searched for familiar shapes as he’d done with his mother so many times as a boy.

A cow, a fish, a sailboat. He smiled as the sun warmed his face. He should do this once a week, he decided. Get out and do something for himself.

A boy ran by clutching a kite, followed by a puppy whose feet seemed too large for its body. Eric had always wanted a puppy, but his mom would never allow it. He understood why, now. Owning a dog would have been difficult financially and impossible time-wise. His mom never worked less than two jobs to make ends meet.

The boy’s mother caught up with him, pushing a baby in a stroller. She grabbed the puppy’s leash and held the boy’s kite while he took off running with the string.

A couple strolled by hand in hand, then stopped to watch the kid launch his kite. The man leaned on his cane and whispered into the woman’s ear, and she smiled. It was the kind of smile that reflected decades of familiarity.

And as Eric sat there on that bench, a horrible truth clarified, causing the hair on his neck to prickle. He was on track to miss this—all of it. The kites and puppies and lifetimes of smiles. Yes, he was young still, and there would be plenty of time after he had made full partner in seven to ten years. But by that time, he’d be older than his dad had been when he died.

“You don’t count,” his father’s voice echoed in his head.

Had all these years he’d spent proving he did count been wasted?

He stood, taking in the park around him as if seeing it for the first time. In a way, it was new and totally foreign. Something else occurred to him as well: in trying to not be like his father, he’d fallen into a pattern just as destructive. One of rigidity and the single-minded pursuit of success for success’s sake. Where his dad had put off responsibility in favor of personal happiness, Eric was putting off happiness in the name of responsibility. His mom was taken care of. Now it was time to take care of himself because he did count.

Like Scrooge realizing he hadn’t missed Christmas after all, he took off running, joy filling him from head to toe.

…

“Please sit down, Mr. Blackwell,” George Dixon said, indicating an empty chair at the head of the polished mahogany conference table. All the partners were present, including Joel Rosenbaum and Don Schoot, as well as the more recent ones.

Bubbling with energy, Eric sat in the prescribed seat.

“Big day,” Mr. Dixon said.

“Yes, sir.” It was a huge day. A far bigger day than he’d envisioned when he woke up this morning with the expectations of making junior partner. He’d dropped by Jane’s office on his way to his review to fill her in on his plans, but she was still in her meeting. Besides, he didn’t want to steal the thunder from her own promotion.

Mr. Schoot looked up from the file in front of him, most likely Eric’s personnel file, and studied him over his glasses. “We’re impressed with you, Mr. Blackwell. You’ve successfully handled several key transactions in your time here, and your team speaks highly of your leadership skills as well as your work ethic.”

“Thank you, sir.” Eric found it hard to sit still. It was as if he were a balloon with the end pinched, and if somebody let go, he would just float around the room in exuberant circles making raspberry noises.

This was a formality. Something for a resume. He’d worked hard and wouldn’t deny himself the rush of this victory, no matter how short-lived. He patted the newly printed document in his pocket.

“Rather than take any more time than necessary out of your day, let’s cut straight to it,” Mr. Rosenbaum said from the chair next to his. “We are all in agreement that you should be promoted to junior partner.” The man stood and extended his hand. “Congratulations.”

Eric accepted the offered hand. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the confidence.”

The rest of the men and women in the room offered congratulations and handshakes with the exception of Mr. Dixon, who watched him with interest until the room had cleared except for the two of them.

“I need to speak with you, Mr. Dixon.”

“You certainly do.”

Suddenly, the light-headed thrill of triumph dropped to lead in his feet. Eric consciously stilled his fingers twitching at his side, then reached into his pocket and retrieved the paper. “Sir, I—”

“How serious is your affair with my daughter?”

Sonofabitch. He didn’t see that coming at all. One of the things he’d learned in law school was when to keep his mouth shut, and this was one of those times. Schooling his expression, he met Mr. Dixon’s eyes, finding the man’s face neutral as well.

Mr. Dixon crossed to the table and sat at the head, where Eric had received his promotion only minutes ago. “Jane hates being a lawyer, you know.” He toyed with the wedding ring on his left hand. “Her mother and I still don’t understand why she did it—or still does it for that matter.”

Frozen in place, Eric gritted his teeth. It wasn’t his place to talk about Jane with her father.

“You said you needed to speak with me, but all you’ve done is stand there like you’re lost.”

Eric held out the paper and Mr. Dixon took it. “I appreciate the confidence the partners have expressed in my abilities. My experience gained here is invaluable and I’m grateful. However, I—”

“You’re quitting,” Mr. Dixon said, scanning the letter, then tossing it on the table.

“Yes, sir.”

“But you accepted the promotion first in order to use it on your resume.”

“Yes.”

“You planned this.”

“I did.”

“For how long?”

“I made the decision less than an hour ago.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “I didn’t take you for an impulsive person, Mr. Blackwell.”

He placed his hands on the back of the chair to Mr. Dixon’s left. “Nor did I, sir.”

“Until you met my daughter.”

“Until I discovered what really mattered in my life.”

Mr. Dixon sat back in his chair, studying Eric, who consciously focused on relaxing his muscles to hide his nervousness.

If Mr. Dixon had evidence Eric had broken the non-fraternization agreement, he could revoke his promotion and fire him on the spot. Having to admit he was fired in a job application or interview would seriously damage his chances of working for another big firm.

“Well, then.” Mr. Dixon folded Eric’s resignation letter and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. “You’ll be needing a referral letter. Be sure Marcie has your correct address, and I’ll draft one.”

Chapter Eighteen

Eric checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still no text from Jane. Her review was at four. Surely, it wasn’t still going on two hours later.

They hadn’t firmed up plans for their usual Friday movie night, but it was an ongoing thing, so he changed into his jeans and hit the train like usual. Hopefully, she had some good news and reason to celebrate.

After chatting with Bernie at the security desk of her apartment, he took the elevator up and knocked as always. Only no one answered.

He left a message on her voicemail when it rolled over on the first ring and sat down in the hallway to wait for her to get home. Maybe she was celebrating her promotion with her team or family.

A gold paw stretched out from under her door into the hallway. “Hey, Gandalf,” Eric said, touching the pink toe pads. “Where’s Jane?”

Even if she was out celebrating, she would have seen his half-dozen texts asking her to call him.

Something was wrong, he just knew it. Her father’s voice rumbled through his brain. “How serious is your affair with my daughter?”

A sickening wave of nausea churned his gut. Surely his resignation mitigated any concerns in that regard. How had George Dixon found out? They’d been careful to keep to their usual routine all week except that one time in his office. Even then, they’d been very quiet and the door was locked and window shades drawn. No way had that been what did it. God, he certainly hoped not. Another bout of queasiness rolled through him and he stood, pacing to burn off the nervous energy.

He’d recognize Jane’s footfalls anywhere. He’d heard her walk by his office in heels every weekday for two years, and there was no doubt she was striding toward him now from the other end of the hall. With a sigh of relief, he spun to greet her.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to even show your face here.” She pulled out her keys and pushed by him to the door. “Go home.”

What the fuck? “Jane, I—”

“Nope. No way. Absolutely not. Just go.”

“Why?”

She shoved the door open partially, pitched her briefcase and handbag inside, stepped out of her shoes and kicked them inside as well, then turned to face him in the hallway. “You can’t be serious.”

He was serious all right, but had no clue what to do. His mind ran through everything he could think of to diffuse this, but he wasn’t certain what was going on. All he could hear was George Dixon’s voice in his head saying, “How serious is your affair with my daughter?”

Pretty fucking serious. He’d quit his job to be with her. And now this.

“Did you get the promotion? Did they make you a junior partner?” she asked.

“Yes, but—”

She crossed her arms over her ribs. “I’m happy for you. You got what you’ve always wanted. Congrats. Bye-bye.” She stepped inside her apartment, and he placed his hand on the jamb just as she slammed it shut. Hard.

Shit, shit, shit. Pain like fire raged through his hand all the way to his chest. He pulled it to his abdomen and applied pressure with his good hand, holding his breath. When he closed his eyes, he saw stars.

“Oh God, Eric. Was that your… Oh crap. I didn’t mean to…”

And at that moment, Gandalf darted past her and sprinted down the hallway toward the stairs.

“Gandy!” she yelled, running after the cat.

Eric passed Jane on the first landing, catching up with Gandalf on the fourth. With his good hand, he scooped the cat up and held him close. Fuck, his hand hurt.

Jane was standing at her door with a stricken look on her face when he got back to her floor. Gandalf had settled against his shoulder and was purring at full volume when he reached her.

“God, I thought I’d lost him. Thanks.”

He handed the cat over, worried he’d lost much more. “Jane…”

“How could you?”

His hand throbbed so badly it seemed to pound in his ears, making it hard to think straight. “How could I what?”

“You told him. My dad. He knew we’d…” With a sob, she stepped into her apartment, cat clutched to her chest, and without even looking at him, she shut the door.

Eric flinched at the sound of the security chain sliding in place, followed by the two deadbolts.

“I didn’t tell him,” he said through the door.

“Go home, Eric.”

A neighbor opened her door to check out what the noise was about. She met his apologetic half smile with a glare before closing her door.

He put his forehead against the cool wood of Jane’s door trying to make sense of all this. “What happened at your review?”

“What do you think happened?” she answered.

“Did you make junior partner?” Because she should have. Nobody worked harder than Jane.

The deadbolts clicked and the door opened, but snapped on the chain at about four inches. She peeked at him through the crack. “No, Eric. I didn’t get a promotion. I got fired.”

And then she slammed the door and locked the deadbolt.

…

Eric sat on the floor outside Jane’s apartment for a long time. Not because he hoped she’d come out, but because he couldn’t move.

George Dixon had fired his own daughter. The ultimate rejection. No bouquet of Dear Jane flowers on earth could hold a candle to this. What an asshole.

More than that, why would he give Eric a pass, but not his own daughter? With a groan, he stood and staggered down the hallway, hand aching like mad, taking the stairs to clear his head and avoid having to be near other people in an elevator.

Once outside her building, he slumped on the stoop of the retail space that looked to be a shut-down dry cleaners. His hand hurt so fucking bad, but not nearly as much as his chest, which felt like it was splitting in two. He quit his job for her—for nothing.

He shook his head. No. He quit for himself. She was in the equation, yes, but not the only factor. If not for Jane, he might still be pulling eighty-hour weeks at sixty years old and going home to work his crossword puzzles at night, missing out on life altogether.

And Eric decidedly did not want to miss out on life.

He tried to flex his fingers, but couldn’t. His hand had swollen and was a vivid shade of purple tinged with red. Damn. Clearly, his heart wasn’t the only thing Jane had broken.

His phone dinged and he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket with his good hand, praying that it was Jane. Good or bad news, at least it would open communication.

Flipping the phone over, he scowled at the message from Alastair. “Hey. Haven’t seen you at the bar in a month. All work and no play…” At the end was a thumbs-down emoji. God, he hated emojis. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and stood.

Maybe that’s what he needed. A couple of beers to numb the pain in his hand. It beat the hell out of moping outside Jane’s apartment building, anyway. With a grimace, he stood and headed toward the subway station.

Chapter Nineteen

“He got a promotion and I got fired, Gandy.” Jane shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth and washed it down with half of the chardonnay she’d poured in an NYU tumbler.

“And then he acts like everything’s fine and shows up here.”

She switched channels from DIY to the local news. “And the worst part…” She pulled out an unpopped kernel from the bowl and pitched it across the room into the trash can. “The worst part is, I didn’t really give a shit about not getting the promotion until Dad started grilling me on the particulars of my ‘affair’ with Eric.” She took another swig of wine. “Who even uses words like that anymore…affair?”

After setting the popcorn on the table, she switched the TV station to a movie channel, only to switch back to the news immediately. A kissing scene was the last thing she wanted to see right now.

Gandy jumped on her lap, and she buried her fingers in his thick, gold fur. “Why did he tattle, huh? It makes no sense. Weirder yet, why did Dad approve his promotion? I mean, he said he got the promotion, and Dad clearly knew about us, so…”

A commercial showing a happy couple walking down the beach came on. When she reached for the remote to change it, the Times page Eric had abandoned on Sunday after breakfast caught her eye. At the bottom was an unfinished crossword.

“Eight across: ‘A famous traitor,’” she read out loud. “God, that’s easy. Eric Blackwell!” She rolled her eyes and scanned for the appropriate squares. It began with a B and ended in LD. “Duh.” How could he have not gotten Benedict Arnold? Then she remembered what had happened at breakfast to make him set the puzzle aside, and the mystery was solved. He’d had much better things to work on than a crossword puzzle.

Even knowing what he’d done to her career, even as disappointed and angry as she was at his betrayal, her body heated at the thought of last weekend. Jane crumpled the page in her lap. Her body was turning out to be the biggest traitor of all.

Glancing up, she saw Kim Zimmerman in a news story on the TV. She dropped the paper, snatched up the remote, and cranked the volume. Her jaw dropped in disbelief as Kim and her politician husband held hands and answered questions at a press conference. They had reconciled and were back together.

“Holy shit, Gandy. It worked.” Slumping into the sofa cushions, she stared at the glowing couple on her screen. “She did it. She got him back.” She chugged some wine and shook her head. “If she’d done what I advised, she’d be divorced right now.”

Kim Zimmerman had acted from her heart, which is what Jane had done earlier today in her team meeting. She marched out of that conference room and wrote a resignation letter. She’d planned to hand it in to her dad before her review, but he intercepted her in the hallway, pulled her into an empty conference room, and fired her first.

Burying her face in her hands, she took a shaky breath. Being fired effectively ruined her chances of landing a position at another big firm. Being fired by her own father probably killed her chances at any firm.

She hated practicing law anyway. This termination shouldn’t upset her this much.

Maybe it wasn’t being fired that upset her. Maybe it was the fact that Eric had betrayed her trust. She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Lawyers suck, Gandy.”

The cat put his chin on her leg and purred in agreement.

“Love sucks.” Because despite everything—lost job, betrayal, humiliation—she was still in love with Eric Blackwell.

…

Alastair replaced the empty beer bottle with a full one. “So, you quit your job for this woman and now she wants nothing to do with you? Brilliant, mate. Really brilliant.”

“I didn’t quit my job for her. I quit it for me,” Eric said.

“Yeah, but really, you did it so that you could be with her without breaking the non-frat…the non frittle…the no fucking each other rule at work.”

He buried his face in his hands. “In part, yes.”

Alastair wiped the bar in front of him. “That’s all kinds of screwed up.”

Tell me about it. Eric reached for his third beer of the night and winced when he unthinkingly used the wrong hand.

His friend stopped wiping the bar and leaned closer. “That hand is broken, you know. What did you do, punch a wall?”

Eric shook his head and grabbed the beer with his good hand. “No. Jane shut the door on it.”

Now it was Alastair’s turn to wince.

“It was an accident.”

“You need to get an X-ray. Hospital’s right down the street.”

He set the bottle down and tried to flex the injured hand that still hurt like hell and had grown to twice its size. “Nah. It’ll be fine.”

Alastair leaned even closer. “It’s not fine. You’re not fine.”

“I’ve only had a little over two beers. I’m totally fine.”

“I’m not talking about booze, dumbass. I’m talking about you. Her.”

Her. Eric picked at the edge of the Heineken label. Alastair was right. He wasn’t fine. He was horrible. Never been worse.

“What do you really want, man? That’s the key.”

“I want her. In my life. Every day.” Every night. Every minute.

Alastair folded the towel and laid it over the edge of the sink. “Okay. That’s a start. At least you’re not bullshitting me or yourself anymore about your feelings for her.” He took off his bartender apron and hung it on a hook next to the wine rack. “Here’s a harder one: What does she want? If you can figure that out and make it happen, you’re golden.”

Oh, he didn’t need to figure that out. She’d told him. “Animal Attraction.”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t get weird on me.”

“It’s the name of a business she wants to open.”

“Does this business involve you?”

“No.”

“Do any of her plans include you?”

“I have no idea. After today, I seriously doubt it.”

“Well, you have a starting point at least. You know what she wants. You know what you want, and somehow, you have to make those things fit together.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“That’s the spirit. Keep it positive, dude.” He shouted to the other bartender that he was leaving early and the guy waved him off. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the hospital.” He pitched the remainder of Eric’s beer in the trash and handed him his briefcase. “We’ve gotta fix your broken hand before we can concentrate on your broken life.”

Eric remained fixed on his barstool. “My hand will mend. My life will mend. While I appreciate your willingness to help, it’s hopeless.”

“Nah. Nothing is ever hopeless.”

This was. He was. And even if she agreed by some outrageous stroke of amazing luck to see him again, there was always the “I don’t date lawyers” thing, along with her dad, who was heartless enough to fire his own daughter.

Only, little did George Dixon know, he’d probably just done his daughter a huge favor.

Wait.

“Come on. You’ve got a date with the ER,” Alastair said from the door.

“Wait.” Eric’s lungs expanded as his body filled with hope, warm, buzzy, and much better than beer any day. No way. He slid off the stool. Maybe he’d read the situation all wrong. Which meant Jane had, too.

Surely, it wasn’t that simple.

Holding on to the back of the barstool, he replayed what George Dixon had said. “Jane hates being a lawyer…” Eric’s grip tightened on the wood. “Her mother and I still don’t understand why she did it—or still does it for that matter.”

Her father hadn’t fired her because he was angry about some inappropriate office interaction, he’d fired her because he loved her and knew how unhappy she was. He could’ve given her a graceful way out, like he’d given Eric. Instead, he burned every bridge she had to ensure she no longer practiced law. To give her a chance at happiness.

“No way…”

“You okay, mate?

“Yeah. I’m…I’m great. Amazing. Holy shit! Let’s go get my hand set. I’ve got a lot of things I need to do.”

The first of which was to give Mr. George Dixon a call. If Eric’s hunch was right, he had a busy weekend ahead.

Chapter Twenty

Jane vowed she wouldn’t cry, and she hadn’t…so far. As long as Eric Blackwell stayed away from her office—her ex-office—she’d be fine. Usually his Mondays were full of departmental meetings, so if she got out by noon, she wouldn’t run into him. She only had a couple more things to pack up and she was done.

Done.

Finished with Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot forever.

As she looked around the office that she’d spent more time in than her own apartment, she felt oddly hollow. She’d expected it to hurt to leave the firm, like losing Eric this weekend had hurt to the point she couldn’t sleep. But where the sharp pain should be in her chest, there was only a dull ache.

With a sigh, she packed the vase from the huge floral arrangement Eric had delivered to her office, setting off this whole “affair.” She rolled her eyes at her father’s use of that word. That day seemed like forever ago.

Nope. No tears. Today was going to be drama-free.

Black’s Law Dictionary and The New York Family Law Code made good wedges to hold the vase in place. Last, but not least, she packed the gold pen and pencil desk set her father had given her the day she’d graduated from law school.

Her chest cramped as if it were folding in on itself as she slid the set into the box. She’d done everything in her power to live up to Dad’s standards, and now this.

A knock came on the door and she cringed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She couldn’t face Eric. Couldn’t. He’d destroyed her…her job, her reputation with her family, her heart.

It was her heart that had suffered the worst blow. Losing her job would have been bearable if it hadn’t meant losing him, too. If only he hadn’t gone behind her back and broken their agreement to keep their relationship secret. Betrayal was unforgivable.

But so was cowardice. She’d have to face him eventually. Might as well get it over with. After a deep breath, she strode to the door and swung it open.

“Marcie.”

“Hi, Ms. Dixon. I came by to see if you needed any help…and to apologize.”

Seeing the receptionist and not Eric left her almost giddy with relief. She leaned against the doorframe. “No, I’m good. And no need to apologize, I didn’t have much to pack.”

“Not to apologize for that.” She tugged the collar of her shirt as if it were too tight. “I just…” And then the tears started, making it even harder for Jane to contain her own. The woman needed to stop crying. Now. For real.

Jane pulled Marcie into her office and shut the door to prevent prying eyes. No doubt the news that Dixon fired his own daughter had already made the rounds. This was water-cooler gossip manna from heaven.

She guided Marcie to the chair facing her desk and moved the box of Kleenex she kept for clients within her reach. “It’s okay. It’s only a job.” A prestigious, once-in-a-lifetime job. One that required intelligence, diligence, hard work, and a whole lot of tolerance. Tolerance to endure miserable clients engaged in messy divorces. Clients who would never be happy, no matter how well the settlement went for them. It was a prestigious, once-in-a-lifetime job she detested with a fiery passion.

Maybe in trying to bring her down in order to forward his own career, Eric had done her a favor. The jerk.

Marcie dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’m so sorry.”

“Never apologize for tears.” How many times had she said that to overwrought spouses across the desk from her? Too damn many.

Marcie blew her nose and met Jane’s eyes. “No. Not the tears. Not the move. I’m sorry for telling Mr. Dixon.”

Jane shoved the trash can closer to Marcie for her Kleenex. “Telling Mr. Dixon what?” That it was a dick move to fire his own daughter? That his daughter is here packing up with her door closed like a coward? What?

The woman stared at her lap, silent.

Oh hell no. This was not the time for the woman to go uncharacteristically quiet. Instead of taking her customary place behind the desk, Jane settled into the chair next to Marcie. “What did you tell my dad?”

“That you and Mr. Blackwell… That you…”

For a moment, the walls blurred out and there was only Marcie. Jane shook her head to clear it. No. Impossible. Thank God she was sitting, or she would have fallen down. The hurt expression on Eric’s face when she accused him of ratting her out flashed through her mind, and she wanted to puke. “That we what?”

“Well, I didn’t know you guys weren’t allowed to date or I wouldn’t have said a word. I mean, I thought it was cute.”

Cute.

“And I didn’t tell Mr. Dixon anything, really. I’d never tell him about what I heard during lunch Thursday.”

God, could it get any worse? “What did you hear?”

She shrunk in the chair. “Um. One of you must have hit the intercom button on Mr. Blackwell’s desk while you were…um…”

Yes, it could get worse. Much worse. Jane groaned and covered her face.

“I muted it right away. Nobody else heard.”

Her mind traveled back to the shenanigans on his desk, and she groaned again.

Marcie twisted in the chair to face Jane. “All I told your dad was how happy it made me to see you guys together. He grinned and seemed all happy, too. And then he must’ve remembered it was against the rules or something, because he got all grim and huffed back to his office. Next thing I knew, Mr. Blackwell resigned and you…well, you…” And then the sobbing started again. “You guys were my favorites around here. I didn’t know I’d made a mistake until one of the other attorneys told me that relationships weren’t allowed.”

Prickly chills crawled up Jane’s spine. Eric hadn’t broken his promise not to tell. In fact, he had resigned. No, no, no, no, no. “Wait. What? When did Mr. Blackwell resign?”

“I assume it was during his review. He came out and gave me a copy of his resignation letter and said Mr. Dixon was preparing a letter of recommendation for him and asked me to mail it to him at the address on the top. He was all cleared out of his office before you were out of your team meeting on Friday.”

And he hadn’t told her. No, she never gave him the chance to tell her. The man quit his dream job and came to her apartment, where she straight up accused him of sabotaging her life.

Oh my God. She covered her mouth as her stomach did a somersault. She’d slammed his hand in the door. And even after all that, he’d rescued her cat.

“Oh, Marcie. I’ve screwed up so bad.” There was no way she could fix this. She’d treated him terribly. She was the type of person who couldn’t even land second dates. No way could she convince him to give her a second chance, and she didn’t blame him. This was a guy who had done nothing wrong. He’d been forced out of his dream job because of her. He had a lot more reason to be angry than she ever did. And yet, he’d come to her apartment. He’d texted over and over about meeting up after he’d resigned.

Surely his resignation was the result of her father making accusations.

But what if it wasn’t? What if he’d left for her? For them? So they could be together.

She buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes tight. He would have told her, wouldn’t he?

A knock on the door made them both jump.

“I’ll get it,” Marcie said, practically running to the door.

“Delivery for a Ms. Jane Dixon?” Jane could only see the guy’s brown pants because an enormous bouquet, practically identical to the one Eric delivered all those weeks ago, covered his top half. “There was nobody at the front desk, so I just looked for the name on the door,” he added.

“Oh dang. I’d better get back to the desk,” Marcie said with a wave good-bye, leaving Jane alone with the flowers on her bare desk.

Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope, heart hammering as she read out loud the words she dreaded most.

“Dear Jane…”

Chapter Twenty-One

Jane turned the card over expecting there to be a “It was fun,” or “Sorry we don’t connect,” or “It’s probably best we not see each other again,” like she’d received in letters and texts before. But the back of the card she’d pulled from the floral arrangement was blank. “Dear Jane…” was all it said.

Never in a million years would she have expected something this mean from Eric. Not that he was wrong to ditch her after the way she’d treated him, but still. Not like this. Of all the people in the world, he knew how much this would hurt.

She stumbled around the desk and sat where she’d met with so many clients who were ending relationships, and for the first time, she understood their misery. She’d never cared for a man this way. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming, she couldn’t get a full breath.

She repeated her vow from earlier. “I will not cry.”

Another knock came on her door and Marcie stuck her head in. “Hey. When I got to my desk, these were there. She placed a smaller bouquet next to the huge one and grinned. “I love romantic stuff like this!” She did a little happy dance and skipped out of the room.

Romantic. If she only knew. This arrangement was all yellow roses with little sprays of baby’s breath. Jane rose, using the edge of the desk to steady herself, and walked around to the other side. With trembling fingers, she slid the card out of the flowers and opened it.

“Two years ago, I saw you for the first time and you rocked my world…”

Jane slumped into one of the client chairs, heart beating so hard it hurt. Two years he’d been aware of her. Watched her. Wanted her. When he’d first told her this, she couldn’t believe it. Now looking back, how could she have been so stupid? Of course he wouldn’t have broken her trust. Not only would he have derived no benefit, he wasn’t the kind to be disloyal…like she obviously was, so quick to think the worst of him.

She set the tiny card next to the first one and slumped back into the chair, refusing to let the tears win out.

Another flower delivery guy walked straight in without even bothering to knock, carrying a vase of pink roses. “The old dude at the front desk signed for these and sent me back.”

Old dude?

After unceremoniously setting the roses next to the others, the guy took off, leaving her alone with another potential knife to the heart. Jane plucked the envelope off the fork and finally dislodged the card from inside after fumbling forever because of her trembling fingers.

“But now that I’ve gotten to know you…”

Jane sank back down into her chair, her stomach churning with dread as she turned the card over to find the back blank.

This was worse than a Dear Jane letter. It was a serialized Dear Jane letter with flowers punctuating just how much of a romantic loser she really was. And the worst part was she deserved it. Every single word. She’d not only accused him of something horrible he hadn’t done, she’d slammed his hand in the door, for God’s sake.

She read the last card again and filled in the blank with possibilities. “Now that I’ve gotten to know you…” I never want to see you again… I know what a thoughtless witch you are… I understand why nobody will ask you on a second date.

Covering her face, she leaned forward, fighting the wave of emotion. I will not cry.

“Oh my Gawd, Ms. Dixon!” Marcie trotted into Jane’s office. “This is so exciting. Look! Here’s another one! He must really have a thing for you.”

Yeah. Like an intense dislike. Jane didn’t even lift her head.

Marcie set the flowers with a clunk next to the others on the desk. “They’re from Mr. Blackwell, right?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

“Dear Jane…” Marcie read from the cards lined up on the desk. “Two years ago I saw you for the first time and it rocked my world…” She made a weird squealing sound through her nose. “This is fantastic.”

Yeah. Fantastic.

She cleared her throat. “But now that I’ve gotten to know you…”

Jane didn’t move.

“Oh, come on. Aren’t you going to open the card?” Marcie asked.

“No.” She couldn’t bear to see it in writing.

And as she sat there, wallowing in remorse, something shifted. It was a strange sensation, but Jane actually felt Eric’s presence before she saw or smelled him. She spun in the chair to find him in her doorway wearing a business suit and a blue and white sling on his right arm. He was so handsome it made her chest ache. His expression was completely neutral, but he had a slightly darker hue under his eyes than usual. He looked tired and she wondered if he was having trouble sleeping, too.

“I’ll just be going, then,” Marcie said, heading for the door. “Mr. Dixon is a terrible receptionist. He’s up there waiting for some important papers to be sent by carrier, and he’s making me crazy. He’s even answering the phones.” She rolled her eyes and scooted from the room, giving one last grin and a thumbs-up to Eric, who only reacted with a tired, polite smile.

Jane sat up straight, trying to put on a good face which was hard to do when she hadn’t slept much all weekend. “I was told you’d resigned.”

“I did.” He stepped into the room. “I have another job now. I’m the attorney for Anderson Enterprises’ newest acquisition, Cahill Investment Group.”

It felt surreal seeing him in her office as if her entire world hadn’t just blown up in her face. “Congratulations. That was fast.”

“I was highly motivated.”

So was she. Motivated to crawl under a rock and shrivel up. Here she was, chatting with a guy she’d screwed over, surrounded by a funeral home-worthy amount of Dear Jane bouquets with dark circles under her eyes and no makeup. She deserved this. At least he had the decency to deliver the final blow in person.

He sat in the chair next to her and for an uncomfortable period, they said nothing. He just stared at her with an unreadable expression. They both broke the silence at the same time.

“Jane—”

“Eric—”

“Sorry,” they said together.

“You first.” He relaxed back in the chair.

Could this be more awkward? Nope. Not a chance. Jane played with the ends of her ponytail and gathered her thoughts. “I’m sorry about Friday night. I’m sorry I slammed your hand in the door. Mainly, I’m sorry I jumped to a wrong conclusion. I know now that you didn’t tell my dad about us. That you wouldn’t have.”

He leaned closer. “I’m sorry about Friday night, too. I’m also sorry you slammed my hand in the door.” He held up his cast. “Very sorry. And I’m sorry that you’ve jumped to more than one wrong conclusion.” He slid the envelope out of the bouquet of red roses.

No. She wasn’t up to this. She’d rather read that last one when she was ready. And alone.

“Dear Jane,” he said, turning the chair to face her.

Oh shit. She sat up straight and girded herself, like she did before every divorce consultation.

He slid the flap open on the envelope as he recited the next line. “Two years ago, I saw you for the first time and you rocked my world…”

She couldn’t read his expression. His eyes never left hers and she ached for what she’d foolishly lost.

“But now that I’ve gotten to know you…”

Here it comes. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his face when he said good-bye.

His breath fanned over her ear and neck as he leaned close. “You are my world.”

Wait. What? Her heart stuttered in her chest. Surely she’d misheard him. She opened her eyes to see his beautiful smile.

“You’re my world, Jane, and I don’t ever want to be without you. I know you don’t date lawyers, but—”

“I hate lawyers,” she said.

His warm smile faded and he straightened in the chair.

Her chest pinched at his disappointed reaction. “I hate lawyers, but I love you.”

Before she could say another word, his lips met hers and she melted. From relief, from happiness, from the overall joy of not losing the best thing she’d ever had.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she broke the kiss.

“I’m locking the door.”

The smile on his face made it clear he was good with that plan. And she intended to make him smile even more. For a whole lifetime, if she was lucky.

“And I’m disconnecting the freaking intercom,” she added.

“Wait,” he said, leaning across the desk and pushing the intercom button. “I love you, Jane Dixon!” he yelled into the speaker.

No doubt everyone on the fifteenth floor heard Marcie’s excited squeal from the front desk.

So much for her vow to not cry today.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As expected on a Monday afternoon, the One Train was crowded. Eric took advantage of that fact and wrapped his good arm around Jane to hold the same pole as her, enjoying the feel of her against him, his body still humming from their lovemaking in her office. On the floor near her feet was a box containing the four floral arrangements. She’d arranged for a company to deliver the rest of her office boxes.

“So, you’re working for the Andersons,” she said as they pulled into another station.

“They told me to contact them if I ever left the firm, so I called them Friday. I worked all weekend.”

“Another job with terrible hours, then.”

The doors closed and they took off with a lurch.

“No, much more flexible.” Obviously, since they were on the way to her apartment on a weekday afternoon, which never would have happened at DR&S. His body hardened in anticipation of a whole afternoon and evening naked with Jane Dixon. Only he had something he had to do first. Hopefully, he and Jane wouldn’t get there too early. He checked his watch.

“I won’t usually work on weekends,” he said. “This was a special project. My job is to do legal research and analysis pertaining to the company’s investment in promising small businesses, with an eye toward creating franchises. This one was time-sensitive.”

“Oh.”

The train slowed for another station. “So, have you put any thought into what you are going to do now?” he asked.

“Yes. Take you back to my apartment and ravish you.”

“Ravish?”

She laughed. “Kind of goes with my dad’s favorite word, affair. Too bad it doesn’t pay as well as practicing law.”

He nipped her neck. “It does have excellent benefits.”

Her body swayed into his as the train set into motion again. He’d never appreciated the subway system as much as he did at that moment. Still gripping the pole, he pulled Jane tighter, and his body thrummed in time to the swaying of the train. Not one for PDA, he loosened his grip, getting himself back under control. Besides, it wouldn’t do to step off the train in his current condition.

She heaved a heavy sigh. “I have no clue what I’m going to do. No decent firm will hire me now.” She shrugged. “Something will turn up. I have some savings until it does.”

“What about your pet boutique idea?”

The train brakes squealed over the first part of her response as they pulled up to her stop. “And I’d never be able to get that kind of money together. Like I said before, it was silly.”

When the doors opened, she grabbed her box and they pushed their way to the platform, blinking as they exited the stairs into the sunlight. “Glad I live close to the stop. Even with almost all the water dumped out, these flowers are heavy,” she said.

“Would you mind if we check on something first?”

“Is it far? Because not only are these flowers heavy, they’re beautiful and make me want to rip your clothes off with my teeth.”

Holy shit. He needed to put the florist on retainer. “It’s very close. It’s the business the Andersons want to invest in through Cahill. The one I worked on over the weekend. We think it’s very promising.”

“As long as it’s close. I’m kind of in a hurry, Blackwell,” she said, peering through the blooms.

Nothing compared to the urgency he was feeling as the image of her removing his clothes with her teeth ran in a continuous loop in his mind. “The business is on the direct route to your place.”

They rounded the corner and he could barely contain himself as he waited for her to react. At first, she didn’t even break her pace, maybe because she couldn’t see well through the flowers, but then stopped short. For a moment, he thought she might drop the entire box, so one armed, he relieved her of it and set it on the ground.

The last few hours had been as unnerving as his first job interview. So many things could have gone wrong, but now that he was standing in the prescribed spot at the prescribed time, and everyone was there, he knew it had all fallen into place as designed. And the stunned look on Jane’s face made the entire weekend of all-nighters worth every sleepless second.

“Oh my God. Dad?”

…

Something was up. Something big. Jane stared in disbelief at the group of people in front of her apartment building. She knew her mouth was gaping open and she must have looked ridiculous, but for some reason, her body wouldn’t do what she wanted it to do.

Her father beamed. Really beamed. He wore a huge grin on his face like when she had scored goals in soccer as a little kid. Michael and Chance Anderson were there, too. At their feet were two little dogs in matching collars.

“Are we ready?” her father asked.

“For what?” her words came out in an inaudible whisper.

“Yes,” Eric said.

It wasn’t until then that she noticed they were all outside the vacant space in the bottom of her building that used to be a dry cleaner.

“The build-out begins in two weeks,” Eric said. “But for now…”

Her father yanked on a rope attached to a sheet above the door. When it hit the ground, Jane did, too. Unable to stand, she sat on the sidewalk, staring up at the sign she’d dreamed about since she was seven years old.

Animal Attraction

“That’s… I…”

At least she wasn’t the only one wearing a goofy grin. Everyone gathered on the sidewalk—even the dogs—were smiling.

“Is that…?” She pointed at the two dogs painted on the sign which were identical to the ones on the sidewalk—one a Japanese Chin and the other a Shih Tzu.

“My wife Mia’s an artist. She took a couple of liberties when painting it,” Michael Anderson said.

The sign was amazing. Classy, but fun at the same time, with animals frolicking around the borders. “I love it. Oh, wow. That’s Gandalf! He hates having his picture taken. How did you…?”

“He hates everything,” Eric agreed. “Except me, of course. Mia worked from my description kind of like a police sketch artist. I think she got his thug glare down just right.”

And as she sat on the sidewalk, staring up at the sign that had been her dream since she was a little girl, reality hit. A sign was one thing. A viable business was another. She couldn’t afford one month’s rent for a retail space in this part of New York City, much less a year or more or whatever the terms were here. “Wow, everybody, this is really great, but I can’t—”

“Stop. Not another word,” her father said, offering his hand to help her to her feet. “I didn’t raise a naysayer.” Once she was standing, he put his hands on her shoulders. “From the time you were a little girl, you planned and plotted and dreamed about this place. I watched you play this concept out with blocks and stuffed animals, then Barbies and decorated shoe boxes, and then overheard the plans grow up as you and your friends grew up. You girls had spreadsheets, job assignments—you even did rudimentary market analysis.” He turned to the others. “She gets that from her mother.” Then he returned his attention to her. “But for some reason, you never made it happen. Why?”

Eric did the mental equivalent of crossing his fingers and toes, hoping she’d answer honestly.

“Because Dixons are lawyers,” she said softly.

“You’re a Dixon. But you’re also Jane: a creative girl who always wanted to run a business centered around animals. You were forever bringing home strays, nursing them back to health, and then finding them homes. Birds, cats, puppies. Even a squirrel one time. Even now you have a worthless cat that nobody else wanted. What’s his name: Godawful?”

“Gandalf.”

“Gandalf.” He squeezed her shoulders, then gestured to the sign. “This is where your heart is. Not in an office, dealing with angry people all day. All your mother and I want is for you to be happy.”

She stared up at the sign. “I’m not in a position to do this. I can’t afford it and don’t have the human resources, either.”

Michael Anderson stepped forward. “My dad started Anderson Enterprises over fifty years ago. He didn’t have the money or resources to do it. He had investors, and eventually paid them all back with interest. He found and hired the right people to make it happen. We bought Cahill Investments with that spirit in mind. We want to give promising businesses a start.”

Jane glanced back up at the whimsical sign that represented a lifelong dream, and her breath caught.

Michael continued, “Eric pitched this business to us Friday night, and we were skeptical. Over the weekend, he put together a market analysis and it looks like there’s a demand for this kind of business, especially in this neighborhood. Even with solid numbers, we still weren’t completely sold because there’s a substantial conflict of interest where you and Eric are concerned.” He winked at her. “We then talked to your dad, who believes in you so strongly, he joined in the venture, securing the lease for the space just this morning.”

Which explained the papers he was waiting on at the receptionist desk.

Jane looked from one smiling face to another, still a little dizzy. “I don’t know what to say.” All these years, she’d read her father’s reactions wrong. He wasn’t disappointed in her. He was disappointed for her.

“Say yes, and we’re in business,” Michael said. “Eric has all the particulars. You can decide exactly how you want this to operate, since, according to your dad, you’ve been planning it out for a while. After twelve months, you can decide whether to turn the business over to us if you don’t like it, continue on in partnership with us, or buy us out completely. If it goes really well, which we think it might, we’ll talk about franchises with a cut to you for originating the concept.”

“I…” She was still too blown away to talk. To believe that people actually wanted to invest in Animal Attraction.

Eric slid his arm around her waist, his touch grounding her. “I contacted your vet friend, Fiona, and located Caitlin, who divorced her husband and is back in the city staying with her parents. Both are available this week to meet up if you want.”

A chill ran down her spine. This was really going to happen. Animal Attraction was going to be a real thing.

“I’ll bring some papers by later for you to look at,” Chance said.

“Uh. Great.” She couldn’t quit looking at the sign and grinning.

After handshakes and congratulations, Jane finally found herself alone on the street with Eric, still in a happy daze.

He leaned down and stared at her mouth, brow furrowed.

“What?”

With his index finger, he pointed at her top teeth. “You have something in your teeth.”

Oh crap. How embarrassing. Had it been there the whole time she’d been talking to everyone? She ran her tongue over her teeth, but felt nothing. Moving to the glass window at the front of the shop, she checked out her teeth but they were clean. “Where? I don’t see it.”

He gave her a sly look. “Hmmm. Must have been wishful thinking—imagining my clothing in your teeth.”

She gasped and then laughed as he pulled her against him.

“I love you, Jane Dixon. I can’t wait to see what you do with this business. With your brains and heart, you’re going to be a massive success.” He kissed her until she was breathless and light-headed, neither of them caring about people passing them on the busy street. “I do have one question, though,” he said, lips against hers. “Where on earth did you get the name Animal Attraction?”

As she looked into his warm, brown eyes, her chest felt as though it would burst. “It must have been a premonition about you.”

And then, Jane led Eric to her apartment, where they spent the rest of the day practicing the fine art of removing each other’s clothes with their teeth and exploring the nuances of her new business’s name.

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Acknowledgments

This book was a blast to write! Thank you to the entire Entangled Publishing team, and especially Liz Pelletier, for making the publication process smooth, professional, and fun.

As always, gratitude to my street team members in Camp Clarke for your love and support, and for encouraging me to write a spin-off of the Anderson Brothers Series.

Love to my sweet family, Laine, Hannah, Emily, and Robert. Thank you for supporting me in every way possible (including cooking and cleaning the kitchen) so that I can have my dream job.

And most of all, huge hugs to my readers—those new to my books, and those who have followed me across genres. You made this book possible. Thank you.

Marissa

About the Author

Marissa Clarke lives in Texas, where everything is bigger, especially the mosquitoes.

When not writing or reading, she wrangles her rowdy pack of three teens, husband, and a Cairn Terrier named Annabel who rules the house (and Marissa’s heart) with an iron paw. If you love young adult fiction, be sure to check out Marissa’s alter ego, Mary Lindsey!

www.marissaclarke.com
https://www.facebook.com/mary.lindsey.54

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